A Time To Say Goodbye
by Mel J1701
Summary: Harm, Mac and the Admiral face a potentially deadly situation


**Title:** A Time To Say Goodbye   
**Author: **Mel (e-mail me at [m.a.jooty@dundee.ac.uk][1])   
**Disclaimer:**The characters of JAG are the property of David Bellasario, CBS and Paramount and no profit has been made by my utilising them in my story. Everyone else is mine.   
**Rating:**R for violence, angst and bad language.   
**Pairings:** Harm/Mac. Harm/Mac/AJ friendship (a brand new category I invented)   
**Spoilers:** 'Goodbyes' and a bunch of other episodes.   
**Summery:** A few months ago Harm had to make a choice: the courtroom or an F-14. Over the Independence Day weekend, he returns to JAG for a visit where he is not exactly met with a warm welcome. Then things go drastically wrong and he finds himself faced with a new choice: life…or death.   
**Archiving:**Okay, as long as my name stays on it and I'm informed about where it's being posted.   
**Author's Notes:**This is another attempt where I try to be nice. It's very hard for me but if you've read any of The X-Files fan fiction you'll know where I get my torturous streak from. If you're wondering why I write such things, it's because I've read a lot of JAG fan fiction and in most of them it is Mac who's been shot or in a car crash or kidnapped. I've decided to even the stakes. Why should Mac get to have all the fun afterall?   
**JAG fanfic Webpage:**[http://www.crosswinds.net/~jagweb/index.htm][2]   
_________________________________________________________________________________________   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**0413 EST, July 4th**   
This was not how Mac planned to spend her Independence Day weekend, never in a million years. Sure she had wanted Harm home in Washington but not like this…It wasn't fair; she had only had him for three short years and now there was a strong possibility she might lose him forever all because she wanted him home.

God, what was taking them so long? Patience was not one of Mac's strong points, that much was evident, but she just wanted news. Harm had been in surgery for almost four hours now and still no word to his condition. The nurses walked past smiling reassuringly at her but Mac didn't need to be a telepath or even a half-decent psychologist to read the grimness in their eyes. Harm may have been strong and young, however the most healthiest person might not survive what he was facing now. She knew the odds of him coming out of surgery alive.

Admiral Chedwiggen placed a comforting right hand- his left arm cradled in a blue sling- on her shoulder. "He's going to be fine, Colonel, the Commander is strong. Was it not you yourself who told me he helped saved a hijacked hospital just hours after being knocked down?"

He wasn't certain of his words of reassurance though, Mac could tell. Chedwiggen had been there as Harm bled to death in her arms and he knew the severity of his condition. Harm might not even survive the surgery let alone the strenuous days after where he would struggle to recover his health.

Mac sighed wearily. God, if only she had not been such a bitch to him. Maybe he belonged in Pensacola flying F-14's. At least there he wouldn't have been lying close to death on some cold surgical table. It wasn't meant to be this way, he was meant to return all apologetic, wanting her back in his life.

Left with little else to do, Mac thought back to the tragic events which led them to this hospital and to the possibility of Harm losing his life at the hands of lunatics after he had made the most significant statement he had ever uttered to her...

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1923 EST, July 2nd**   
Lieutenant Colonel Sarah 'Mac' Mackenzie sighed, inattentively leafing through yet another file to grace her desk. She felt as if life had just taken a dip into the abyss of pure and simple torture. Oh sure, she had been promoted from Major up to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel but other than that everything sucked. Her eyes drifted to the framed photograph she had adorning her desk. It depicted her and Harm on the day of Bud and Harriet's wedding. Harm had looked so good in his dress whites and they were all so happy…a team. Mac actually had the delusional dream that perhaps one day she and Harm would go through the wedding process, this time with them as the stars of the show.

Heaving another deep sigh (she was doing that often lately), she flicked the photo into her drawer so she would not have to be reminded of long gone opportunities and hopes. Harm had a new life now and the only thing he would be 'marrying' was an F-14.

Ever since Harm had left JAG for Pensacola, things around the office had changed. Sure, Bud and Harriet's sudden change in focus had understandably altered with Little AJ being of their main concern but that was not all. Admiral Chedwiggen was in a permanent sour mood and she knew it had nothing to do with male menopause. He looked to Harm as a surrogate son that would one day take over the 'family business'- namely the role as Judge Advocate General. Now that same son had abandoned the Admiral for greener pastures. As for the pain-in-the-ass Brumby, he never could take no for an answer and since Harm's departure he was in full pestering mode.

She still couldn't come to grips Harm had left. Harm was Harm, he was like a rock, constant and rooted- he didn't jack in a great and advancing career in law to fly a stupid plane and probably end up being shot down in war! He was meant to stay in law, eventually settle down and start a family (God, why was everything heading back to that point?!). It could have been worse though; he could have married Jordan. Mac smirked fiendishly then chastised herself for thinking like a spoilt, selfish child.

But she wasn't the one acting like a spoilt, selfish child, not compared to Commander F-14. Yes, it was Harm who was the childish one- he ditched everything important in his life for a silly childhood dream…He left her like everyone she loved eventually left her.

Bud Roberts stuck his head around her office door. "It's late, I thought you would have gone home by now, Colonel."

"Just catching up on some work, Bud." His concern was sweet but she just wanted to be left in peace with her depression.

"Harriet and I are going out for a meal- Little AJ's first trip to a restaurant," he grinned proudly, every inch the new father he was. "We were wondering if you would like to join us."

And watch how a perfect family was meant to be? No, she would pass on that. Witness a happy Mom-Dad-and-Kiddie scene would only make her sink further in the dark gloom.

"Thanks, Bud, but it's been a long day and I think I'll just home and crash. I thought Harriet was going away for a few days."

"Yes, she's taking the baby to her mother's for the next two nights and be home for a Fourth of July barbecue. Her mom's desperate to see how much he's grown. I have to finish some paperwork for the Waterman case so I'm staying behind, this meal is like a little goodbye 'til they come back. Colonel, are you sure you don't want to come with us? AJ loves to spend time with his godmother."

Probably to make up for the fact his godfather's presence was now practically non-existent. Mac smiled at Bud when she saw his uncertainty. "I'll be fine, Bud, honest. I need an early night."

"Okay, Ma'am, if you're sure." He left, casting Mac one last look.

Mac watched him as he greeted his wife by the desk, taking his baby son into his arms cradling him. The act of such a close-knit family was so warming, so beautiful…

God, did it make her feel depressed.

************************************************************   
**Mac's Residence**   
**Washington DC**   
**2232 EST, July 2nd**   
Curled up on the sofa after a long soak in the bath, Mac perused through a book she had bought a few months ago but had never found the time to read. The novel was based in Russia, surrounding a family who are torn apart by the murder of their six-year-old daughter. It was not her usual fare but somehow reading a romance would only make her black mood blacker.

Still, the details of the novel brought back memories of her own experiences in Russia, how she helped her best friend search for his long-gone father and comforted him in his hours of despair…the same best friend who months later abandoned her for a damn jet. Damn Harm and his obsessions. Deep within Mac, she almost wished they had never found the truth about his MIA father then he would not be off gallivanting around the world in a newfound obsession of flying. He would be at JAG with her.

Guilt immediately pervaded her. How could she even wish such a thing upon Harm? She knew he would never have had such detrimental notions when she quit the Marines to go off with Dalton. Besides, no matter what, he was still her friend. Yeah, a friend who valued jets above her and her loneliness.

Life was suck.

Jumping in fright at the abrupt pounding of her front door, Mac tentatively reached for one of her guns that she kept secured under her coffee table for 'security' purposes (psychotic ex-husbands and fixated stalkers were such examples). The knocking continued. She advanced towards the door wondering who would call for her at this time of night.

When she flung open the door and the person standing outside was revealed, she nearly resorted to using her gun, not for protection but out of rage. There stood Harm, grinning like he had only left her a few hours ago to buy a pizza.

"Hi, Mac," he greeted. "How's things? Congratulations on the new rank. I guess that means you outrank me now, huh?" He sobered when he noticed Mac's glower. "What's wrong?"

Mac swore she could have shot him right then and there for his ignorance. Instead, she smiled tightly, tucking her gun in her waistband of her pyjamas (well, one did not want to tempt fate).

"Oh, so you've decided to grace us with your presence, _*Lieutantent Commander*_," she muttered, maliciously emphasizing his rank.

Harm shifted his feet, not able to look her in the eyes. "Mac, I thought you of all people would understand…" He sighed. "Just because I changed my designator to flying doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Friend but not partners. It was her turn to sigh. "Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there?" She opened the door further, enough to allow him to enter, then she shut it. Mac wandered back to the sofa, not bothering to check if Harm was following.

"How are things here then?" Harm asked, solicitously. "How is everyone at JAG? Is AJ okay?"

"AJ is fine, Harriet has taken him up to visit her parents. The Admiral is still pissed at you; I got promoted _*and*_ a new office; Brumby's getting your old office the Admiral said. Mic's gone camping for the weekend but when he gets home he'll be moving into the office. No sense in letting it go to waste since its former occupant had a better offer." Mac knew it was petty of her to boast of her promotion and equally childish to tell Harm about Brumby getting his office. Not liking her conscience being weighed down by guilt, she changed the subject. " So, what are you doing back here? I thought you were on the carrier or in Pensacola."

"I was due to transfer to another carrier but some problems occurred and the tour was delayed so I decided to come back home for a while. It _*has*_ been three months since I've seen to my apartment."

Home? Did he still see this as home? Perhaps, there was hope for him yet. "How long will you be here?"

"A few weeks…" Harm scowled. "Mac, am I sensing some hostility here? I thought we cleared all this stuff up."

Mac glared angrily at him. "Well, Harm, what the hell did you expect? The red carpet?! You took off to follow some obsession of yours and left m…JAG for what?! I sure as hell hope you don't expect everything to be perfect with you going back and forth every single day."

Harm swallowed. "I'm sorry for hurting you but I had to do this, Mac."

"To fulfil another obsession?" His azure blue eyes slipped away from her brown.

"It's not an obsession," he murmured.

"Yeah, right. Why are you here? It's getting kind of late, Harm, I was just about to go to bed. Some of us have been in court all day."

"You're right, I should go." Harm moved to the door. He looked so forlorn, Mac felt guilty.

"Harm?" He turned. "How about coming to pick me up at the office tomorrow at around fourteen hundred hours? We could go out for a pizza or something, celebrate the holiday weekend."

He smiled. "That would be nice."

She waited until he had gone before collapsing into herself. She had been rude and cruel, Mac admitted that much. She just wanted to punish him, he treated their partnership- their friendship with such flippancy that she felt compelled to do likewise. But then she never could stay mad at him for long although tomorrow they would find out if the admiral felt similarly.

************************************************************   
**Unknown Location**   
**0130 EST, July 3rd**   
The blond man turned to his loyal accomplices. "We hit tomorrow at fourteen ten hours, it's the weekend and a national holiday so the area should be relatively quiet with few targets."

The youngest of the four shifted uncomfortably. "We're just gonna grab the guns, huh, Jonny? We're not gonna kill anyone, are we?"

"We'll kill if need be, Peter," he said firmly, his Southern tang evident in his voice. "We're just reclaiming what's ours, bro. If it wasn't for the greed of our government, we wouldn't be doing what we are."

Another of the group stroked the array of weapons seductively. "Well, Jon, they're sure as hell in for a surprise when they find out what we've done."

Jon, the leader, smirked. "I hope so."

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1416 EST, July 3rd**   
Harm stood ambiguously outside the JAG office. It had only been three months since he had left and he wasn't looking forward to encounter his former CO, Admiral Chedwiggen. He wasn't scared of the man but his feelings were much akin to a young delinquent meeting a one-time principal. Chedwiggen wouldn't do anything physical threatening or anything, however his anger at Harm's switch in designation would be obvious in his curt statements and body language.

Then there was Mac. She was meant to be his best friend yet she had been the one to 'force' him to come here today. She knew fine what Chedwiggen would be like but it was almost as if she was punishing him for leaving. Why, he couldn't understand. He had always been truthful and honest with her. It was Mac who abandoned not only him but JAG for some sleazy, big-bucks civilian firm, it was Mac who had lied about her husband and it was Mac who had the affair with not just a colleague but her own CO.

"Suck it up, sailor," he murmured to himself, slowly inching to the entrance of the office which had been his place of work for four years.

He was glad the place would be quiet today for the Independence Day weekend. Luckily, most of his former colleagues would be at home with their families so he would not have to face them. Ha, whom was he kidding? There was only two who would be contemptuous- Mac and the Admiral- and those were the two he was guaranteed to meet.

Creeping inside, ridiculing himself for acting like a child, he headed to Mac's office, a path he knew like the back of his hand. He glanced cast a glance to the room that had once been his; it lay empty, the blinds shut and his name which had once emblazoned the door was now scrubbed off. In a few days, Brumby's name would be printed where his once was.

"Sir, what are you doing here?"

Harm turned to the direction of the voice and found Bud Roberts standing by his own desk carrying a file. His question was not demanding or irate but merely curious. Bud smiled at him and moved forward to shake his superior's hand.

"I thought you'd be on a carrier."

"Some problems arose so I got a little time off which I decided to spend in DC."

Bud grinned, if Harm didn't know any better his smile was almost self-satisfied. "Spend it with the Colonel, sir?"

Harm scowled then smiled slightly. "Yes, Lieutenant, I'm going to be spending a little time with the Colonel while I'm here."

Bud just nodded, still grinning broadly. "Well, I was just going out to get some coffee and a sandwich for lunch. Do you want anything, Commander?"

"No thank you, Bud…" He glanced around. "How's Harriet and the baby?"

"They're good, AJ is growing up so fast now. He and Harriet have gone up to visit Harriet's parents, they'll be back on Monday."

"You must be missing them a lot."

"Yes, sir." He turned towards the elevator and under his breath, Harm was sure he added, "Just as much as I bet you're missing the Colonel."

Harm shook his head and continued his way to Mac's office when another voice interrupted him- this time there was no denying who the gruff, disdainful voice belonged to.

"Commander, what are you doing here?" interrogated Admiral Chedwiggen. He stood glaring near the entrance to the sub-office that led to Tiner's desk and his office door.

"I'm on leave, visiting in DC," replied Harm, smoothly not wanting to enrage Chedwiggen further but determined not to sound like an intimidated little kid.

"Leave already?! Why, they _*are*_ treating you well in Pensacola."

"Yes, sir," Harm mumbled.

"Are you here seeing the *_Colonel*_?" The older man deliberately emphasized Mac's new rank.

"Yes, sir."

What was the obsession about Mac's new rank? Harm was happy for her to be promoted, it didn't irritate him as much as she and Chedwiggen probably hoped it would. He was happy flying planes as a Lieutenant Commander; he just wished they could see that.

"Well, try not to keep her off her work for too long, some of us have cases to complete." With that, he stalked back to his office.

"Yes, _*sir*_," Harm whispered, sarcastically.

He knew it sounded petty but he couldn't remember the Admiral giving Mac this much grief when she quit. And he sure as hell didn't get a promotion. What was the deal? He wondered if Chedwiggen would have given him a better reaction if he had quit the Navy altogether and gone into civilian law like Mac had.

When he finally reached Mac's office, he was glad the rest of the bullpen was quiet with everyone at home celebrating. He wasn't in the mood for further rebukes. Mac's door was open and she was hunched over a few files, frowning.

"How's it going?" he asked, gently.

She smiled, looking up. "You're late, flyboy, by sixteen minutes."

"I know, I'm sorry, traffic was awful." Personally, he was pleased she was in a better mood. "So, what are you working on?"

Mac scowled. "Can't talk about it with outsiders," she replied, abruptly. She softened at his unconscious attempt to distance himself from her by stepping back. "I'm sorry, the workload is getting to me. It's another fraternization case."

"How are you doing?"

"Oh, I've got a lot of experience on this kind of case," she smirked. "Where do you want to eat?"

"I don't mind."

"Well, I'll be ready to go soon." She searched her desk for something then faced Harm. "Hey, Harm, can you do me a favour?" Harm cocked his head in askance. She threw him the keys to her Corvette. "Can you get the Rodreges file from my trunk? You'll see it, it's on top of all the junk."

He caught the keys perfectly, his eyes narrowing. "This wouldn't be an attempt to rub your Corvette in my nose, would it, Colonel?"

Mac clutched her heart. "You wound me, Commander. As if I would do a thing like that." When he left, she smirked. "You bet I would, Harm."

************************************************************   
**Near The JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1418 EST, July 3rd**   
Jon scowled. It had been so easy to gain entry into the base since Dan and himself were part of the Naval Reserves, so easy it almost made him worry to think these were the guys protecting the country. No wonder his father died like he had. Under the pretense of training, they had managed to get into the weapons depot by talking down the kid who was on guard. After taking the explosives and weapons they planned to use on several bank raids on Washington banks, things went downhill.

There was more activity on the base and they needed a place to hide until dark where they could make their escape. Dan had suggested the JAG Headquarters- it would be quiet over the Federal holiday and it was run only by a bunch of lawyers. It would be a piece of cake. Hole up, tie up the lawyers, when night came they would run off and be long gone before the lawyers could open their mouths.

He watched his men efficiently attach silencers to their guns as they prepared for the ambush, however he was troubled by Peter's shaky movements. His brother was only sixteen with a slight learning disability. He felt responsible for the boy, he didn't want to involve him in this but Peter could do with some toughening up. When the boy was older he would understand and thank him.

"Ready, men?" Jon asked, turning his team.

"Yes, sir!" smirked Sean.

Not entirely trusting of this man, Jon had only grudgingly asked for his help on this mission. Sean was only interested in the guns for his own petty uses, once he received his share he was gone. He had no cause or principles other than drugs and drink. Jon had met the man at his work on a building site and quickly discovered Sean had a history and a love for violence. But he was an excellent shot and would not hesitate in an emergency.

Dan, the teammate he recruited last of all, had joined the Navy Reserves straight out of prison in an effort to straighten out his life. Unlike Sean, he too had real qualms with the government so was happy to be part of the team to help Jon later on in his mission to bring it down. Jon took an instant liking to this quiet man when he found out Dan had been in prison for battering the man who had brutally raped his fourteen-year-old cousin. Vengeance was a quality he admired. Dan's quick reflexes and keen observation skills would make him an excellent guard in the mission.

"Let's go then. Y'all know the plan: cut power to the elevator, Dan takes guard of the stairs and us three go up to grab our prize. And remember, only shoot if you have to. We're only holing up here, no need to hurt anyone."

Sean just saluted mockingly. "You know me."

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1421 EST, July 3rd**   
Jingling Mac's car keys in his hands, Harm jabbed the button of the elevator and groaned when there was no light to indicate the lift car was on it's way up. It must have broken down yet again. Well, he had learned his lesson before; Bud had almost missed his son's birth thanks to this damn lift. He wasn't about to trust the elevator again- the stairs would have to do.

Harm's mind, as always, was preoccupied as he made his way down the darkened stairs to the ground floor. Abruptly, his thoughts were interrupted when three unidentified men, not in uniform, stalked up the staircase. Taken by complete surprise and before he could react to the revolvers each of the men carried, Harm heard a distinctive pinging noise…of a silencer.

Pain cascaded through his lower right leg and he couldn't be sure but he thought he heard the crunch of a bone breaking as the bullet penetrated his limb. He stumbled down the remaining stairs, bashing his head as he fell.

"What the hell d'you do that for?" demanded the blond of the three to his shooter. "God dammit, Sean, we don't need unnecessary injuries."

"He looked like he was gonna try something."

Regaining his composure, Harm glared at them. "Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?! You should get out of here now before anyone else gets hurt. You haven't done anything too bad, you can still walk out of this. It doesn't have to be like this."

"Yes it does," replied the blond, who Harm presumed was the leader.

"What do you hope to gain by hijacking JAG?" When no one answered, he persisted. "We're just lawyers not to mention the Navy doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

"We don't want anything from the goddamn Navy! We got what we came for- real nice guns you got in this place, I must say. You really should lock them up better though. Very dangerous to leave things lying around."

"Guns? Have you taken weapons? What for?"

"None of your goddamn business. Now we'll be leaving shortly so you shut the hell up before I shoot you."

The look of animosity on the blonde's face forced Harm to take him seriously. Harm clasped his bloodied leg. A crimson splodge was growing across the fabric of his blue jeans creating a sickening shade of brown against the blue. He could feel the hot stickiness of blood ooze down from the gash on his forehead, down his cheek. He gazed at his bloodstained hand in morbid fascination, he had never been shot before…and already he sure as hell was certain he didn't want to repeat this particular experience.

"Hey, you guys okay up there?" called another voice, judging from the echo must have been a few floors down.

"Yeah, Dan," said the leader. "Just you keep watch and keep that damn door locked." He glanced at Harm. "We don't need any more casualties."

"Now what, Jon?" asked the teenager who had supported Harm.

"We carry out our mission, Peter. It's just a leg wound, not even the femoral or anything. Help him up and we go for our boy."

The boy gently took Harm by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Harm bit back a moan of pain, determined not to let his pain show. He sighed, his eyes contemplating the very stairs he had practically jogged down not a minute ago. His leg was killing him and the stairs seemed to go on forever. God, he could have just been asked to climb Mount Everest.

The man who had shot him smirked. "Do you want me to help you? I'll be real 'gentle'."

Harm scrutinized him then slowly started to stagger upwards, guided by Peter with both Jon and Sean watching him closely. As he tried to formulate a plan he couldn't help but think this never would've happened at Pensacola. Then again, JAG was anything but boring.

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1427 EST, July 3rd**   
Glaring at the piles of paper on her desk, Mac had reached a point where she needed the Rodreges file if she wanted to continue. Of course, it seemed Harm was taking his own sweet time getting it for her- by her count he'd been gone sixteen minutes. God, she'd be better off getting her own file.

Stalking out of her office, Mac headed straight for the elevator. As she was about to press the button, the stairway door swung open and Harm stumbled out.

"There you are. Where the hell are my…" She trailed off her tirade when she took note of Harm's pale face, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and the huge bloodstain on his right trouser leg. "Oh my God, Harm…"

Before Harm could explain or she could react, three figures marched out of the stairway. The blond of the three stuck a gun in her face while the other checked around to see if the coast was clear.

"Do as we say and nobody will get hurt," ordered the blond.

"Seems as if someone has gotten hurt already," she commented. She quickly moved to Harm's side. "Are you okay, Harm? How do you feel?"

He grinned despite his face being twisted in pain. "Well, I sure know how you felt in the Appalachian Mountains…It's not too bad, Mac."

Mac didn't agree. She couldn't see the wound properly since he was still wearing his jeans but there was so much luck. He was limping heavily and she was sure she heard a sickening creaking sound of bones grinding when he tried to put more weight on the injured leg. He must have been in terrible pain, that she could vouch from her time in the Appalachian Mountains two years ago. Mac felt like such a shit for shouting at him before and blaming him for not getting her stupid file.

"He's lost a lot of blood and he could have a concussion," Mac stated to their captors. "He needs to go to a hospital."

"He'll be fine," said the blond. "The sooner we do this, the sooner you can get your boy to a hospital. Now tell me if there's anyone else here?" Harm and Mac exchanged looks but neither answered. "Tell me or I'll just go in shooting in every room 'til I find them."

There was another moment of silence until the blond cocked his gun. "I'll take you to where our superior officer is," Mac sighed. "He's the only one here other than us."

"Good girl. We'll all go pay the old guy a visit."

Mac supported Harm as they made their way to the Admiral's office. She tried to think of a way to alert attention to this predicament but they were the only ones in the building, everyone else was home for the holidays. She just prayed Bud, when he came back from lunch, would realized something was amiss.

As they walked, Mac stole a glance to the terrorists. They obviously had done something serious but she wondered what exactly was the root of their mission. Why were they so keen to see him? It certainly couldn't be for any good reason.

The leader- whom she learnt was named Jon- seemed to be the most determined driving force but fairly calm. The youngest of the group was little more than sixteen or seventeen years old and was called Peter. He was skittish like any other kid in such a situation and he wasn't happy to be here. Then there was the one named Sean…he seemed desperate to catch a kill. From the way Harm looked at him, she knew he was the one who shot her partner.

Suddenly, as they approached Chedwiggen's office, the door swung open and the Admiral stepped out, no doubt alerted by the noise from before.

"What the hell is going on?!"

It took a split-second for the next events to happen…for Mac to think she had lost the light of her life.

Chedwiggen, his SEAL instincts still as sharp as the day he first joined the accomplished team, immediately detected the weapons trained on the two officers. In one fluid movement, he reached to pull his own weapon which he wore for security purposes on days when he knew the office would be empty. He hadn't reckoned on young Peter picking up on what he was up to.

The boy brought his revolver up before his two companions even comprehended what was happening. As Chedwiggen fired a shot into Sean's shoulder and another, which went into the wall, Peter took a shot aimed directly at the Admiral. The older man didn't have the time to react. Harm sprung towards them as fast as his injured leg would allow. He pushed the Admiral out of the way sending both men crashing to the floor. Peter dropped his gun in shock while Sean cursed, clasping his bleeding shoulder.

Recovering quickly, Chedwiggen slowly knelt up. It was then Mac realized Harm had not moved from his sprawled position on the carpeted floor. Tentatively, like she almost knew what to expect, she knelt by her hushed partner's side and placed a hand over his shoulder onto his chest to shake him.

"Harm, are you…?" Her voice trailed away when her hand connected with something warm and wet. Holding an apprehensive breath, she pulled her hand away and held it up. It was covered in a crimson liquid. "Oh God…"

"Dammit," cursed the Admiral. He swiftly moved to Harm's side and the two officers rolled him carefully onto his back to view the wound.

Harm's pale blue shirt was staining red- blood spreading across his chest. Since they couldn't see the injury, Mac gripped both sides of his shirt and thrust it open, buttons pinging across the floor. The wound was located to the left of his breastbone, a neat little hole gushing. Though she had never considered a career in the medical arts, for some odd reason her tenth grade biology lessons appeared to her in such vividness she had never experienced before in that particular subject.

In that area where the bullet hit, there was little doubt the left lung was hit. Since the wound was oozing and she could locate a pulse in his carotid vein, she didn't think the heart was compromised. Still, there were so many blood vessels and arteries there…He didn't have much time; he absolutely needed medical attention now.

At the pain of being jostled around, Harm's eyes opened as he regained consciousness. "Mac…?" he murmured, almost bewildered.

She cupped his cheek. "Just relax, Harm, you're going to be fine," she reassured.

Harm struggled to rise but Chedwiggen had a firm grip of his shoulder. "Do as the Colonel says, Commander…You're doing great, just have to hang in there, son." The Admiral pulled off his white jacket and folded it to place over the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Harm frowned at the sudden change in the Admiral's mood but remained still. The only thing that concerned him now was the intense pain washing through his chest. Breathing was difficult, painful and he felt as if his chest was about to explode.

"W-what happened?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"You son of a bitch!" exclaimed Sean, his head twisted in disgust as he tried to get a look at his shoulder wound. It was a through-and-through shot and he was more enraged than in pain. "I'm gonna kill you, old man." Sean moved to grab the Admiral but Jon held him back.

"Leave it, Sean!" He turned to his brother. "Y'okay, bro? Peter? You okay, Pete?"

"Eh…y-yeah," stuttered the boy. Peter was in a state of shock at actually shooting someone, a person who hadn't done anything but try to save the life of a fellow officer.

"It's okay, bro, you did great. Old Man here could've hurt us."

"Yeah, Jon."

"Good boy." Jon turned his attention to Chedwiggen and Mac who were still kneeling by their fallen friend. "Now you see we're serious. Let this be a lesson to you, we will kill you if you don't co-operate."

"Now what d'we do, Jon?" glared Sean. "I mean, this is your big show."

"We need to get Harm to a hospital," Mac pleaded. "He's losing too much blood. If we don't he'll…"

"No time, lady. He'll just have to hang on 'til we're done." Jon glanced around. "Okay, let's get them to the Old Man's office. The guards outside will have probably heard our shots. Call Dan on the mobile and let him know to be on the look out. Peter, find a first aid kit for Sean and the Navy guy."

First aid kit? Harm was bleeding to death here- a first aid kit wouldn't be worth shit in the battle to save him. Already, Chedwiggen's white jacket was saturated in blood. Harm's face was clammy and a bleached pale in colour; he was in shock. Mac just wondered how long he could last. She could barely stand ten hours in the Appalachian Mountains and she was only shot in the damn leg. She couldn't lose him now…

Jon interrupted her thoughts when he nudged her back. "Okay, Admiral, lets get him to your room."

"Leave us alone," growled Mac.

"Look, I can help move him or Sean can. He is _so_ eager to help." Mac glanced up at Sean, who was smirking back. She sighed and moved away. "Good, I'm glad we're starting to understand each other."

Gently, Chedwiggen, Jon and Mac carried Harm to the plush office while Sean kept a gun trained on them, his trigger finger twitching slightly. Despite their best efforts, Harm groaned at the sharp pain of the movement.

"It'll be okay, Harm," comforted Mac.

Harm smiled faintly. "Don't think so…"

Mac scowled at his unusual display of pessimism. "Don't talk like that, Harm. You're gonna be fine. Aren't we always? Don't go quitting on me, partner."

"Partner?" His smile broadened though his face was etched with pain. "Try not to quit, Mac."

In the office, Chedwiggen studied the weakening commander then turned to Mac. "Colonel, I think the Commander would be more comfortable if he leaned against you. The extra support will make breathing easier for him and that way you can compress the wound."

"Yes, sir."

Dutifully, Mac sat back against the wall and the two men holding Harm's boneless weight carefully lowered him so he was leaning against her, cradled in her arms. She quickly pressed the sodden jacket over his injury where the flow of blood had increased at the stress of moving him. She could see he was biting back the pain.

"Well, this wasn't…the way I imagined…it to be," Harm said with a slight smirk.

"You're delirious, flyboy," Mac replied, blinking back tears. He was trying so hard to make this easier for her despite his own pain and fear.

Chedwiggen propped Harm's legs up with some thick books from his desk. He paternally patted his uninjured leg as he slouched down to the left of the two officers. Sean pulled out two pairs of handcuffs from his backpack then swiftly secured both the Mac and the Admiral to the radiator pipes behind them. He left one of Mac's hands free so she could support Harm but he secured both of the Admiral's. Chedwiggen's hand turned a shade of purple, straining under the extremely tight cuffs.

"See if you can get outta that one," he sneered.

"This is too tight," Chedwiggen glared. "You're going to cut off my damn circulation."

"I'll be doing a hellva lot more if you don't quit your goddamn complaining."

Jon sighed, bending down to adjust Chedwiggen's handcuff. "Is there a need to do cuff them? I mean, where the hell are they gonna go- jump out the window?!"

"No, but that'll stop 'em from getting any ideas. You should be happy I let the woman off easy. We can't trust them, don't think 'cause you got all these 'ties' with the military they won't try nothing. They're all the same."

Sean moved to shut the office blinds just as Peter ran in with the first aid box. The boy hesitantly handed it to the Admiral then stared in shock at Harm.

"Eh, Jonny, Dan wants to talk with you," the boy informed his brother, his wide blue eyes not shifting from Harm's bloody form.

Jon bobbed his head. "Okay, lets go. I trust I can leave you three in here for a while so I can talk to my men. Mess with us again and I will shoot you down like a dog."

With that, Jon marched out of the room and Peter shadowed him closely, sparing them a few anxious backward glances. Sean shot them one last vicious glare before the door slammed shut and the lock could be heard clicking behind them. The three lawyers sat in silence for a few moments then Chedwiggen studied Harm's debilitated condition.

"How do you feel, Commander?" he asked, trying to keep the younger man engaged so he wouldn't slip away.

He had fought in 'Nam and had conducted numerous dangerous assignments in his years as a SEAL. During those times, Chedwiggen had seen many men fall, their life draining away before his very eyes. Men who were under his command and he a duty to protect. Rabb may not have officially been his officer but the younger man was nonetheless always one of his people and he was damned if he would allow another kid- another of *_his*_ kids- to die.

"Not…so good, sir," Harm replied. He shifted in Mac's arms and gasped at the flare of pain.

"Try not to move around too much, Harm," Mac warned. "That just aggravates the bleeding and the pain."

"Don't have to…tell me…twice."

Mac turned to her superior. "Have you got any idea how to get out of her, sir?"

"I'm working on it, Colonel. So you better stay with us, Commander."

"Yes, sir." Harm tried to inhale a deep breath. "Sir, I think…they stole…weapons. They…were talking about…it."

Chedwiggen frowned. "Do you know how many of them there are?" Harm was losing the ability to speak properly as he fought a painful battle for air. Chedwiggen hated to cause more pain for the younger man but he had to question him.

"Four, sir. There is one…standing…guard on…the stairs…I think...they have…messed with the elevator…It's been dis…disconnected." There was silence for a moment. "So this is what it…was like in the... Appa…lachians, Mac?"

She smiled down tolerantly at him. "Yeah, flyboy."

"Pretty suck…"

"Hey, it could be worse, you could be stuck with Brumby instead."

Harm snorted. "Just shoot me…in the head." He broke into a spasm of coughing and Mac felt her stomach churn in unease when a trail of blood dripped from his mouth. A lung was most definitely compromised.

As she wiped the blood away with a tissue from her pocket memories from her childhood pervaded her. When she was eight years old, she and her father were involved in a terrible car accident. They escape with nothing more severe than cuts and bruises. The driver of the other car was not so lucky. An ambulance and a well-equipped hospital would have increased the wounded man's chances but they were trapped in the middle of no-where. The driver of the other car had several broken ribs and as the time wore on his punctured lung gradually allowed his chest cavity to fill with air and blood until he couldn't breathe at all. That was her first experience with death.

The circumstances were different this time; they were trapped in an office filled with four wackos instead of the lonely road, and that of her closest friend replaced the role of the injured stranger.

No matter what she and the Admiral did for Harm, it was only to postpone the inevitable. Harm's breathing was now shallow and wheezy. His skin was cool and clammy and his normally tanned complexion had blanched even paler if that was possible. Mac knew as well as the Admiral, Harm did not have much time. His fate rested in their hands…in their ability to get him out of here alive.

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1445 EST, July 3rd**   
"There's definitely more activity down there," observed Sean.

Watching from Harm's old office, the three men could see security officers and guards dashing around. Jon was not particularly surprised, the people outside must have heard the gun when it went off. Unfortunately, his team was not really prepared for this new revelation. God, this was meant to be a simple job- in, get the guns then out. Now he had one guy shot, three hostages, and half the Navy probably ready to raid the place. Trust lawyers to make things worse.

"What are we going to do, Jonny?" Peter asked.

"I say we blast them three and get the hell outta here," Sean put forth. His shoulder was now in a makeshift sling but the wound did nothing for his dark mood and quick temper. "They're gonna give us nothing but trouble, I can tell."

"We didn't come here to kill unnecessarily," Jon replied.

"Fine time for you to notice that, Jonny-boy. That Navy guy, how long d'you think he's gonna last? He's dead already."

"That doesn't mean we just shoot them. We got who we want. He's a high-ranking admiral; those Navy police won't come in here when we have him. It'll be fine, just relax."

"Relax? This 'mission' of yours had been a fuck-up from the moment we got here. Look at us- we got cute little Peter here behaving like he should still be in kindergarten, no way of escape and absolutely crap weapons. We should cut our loses and get the hell away."

Jon grabbed Sean by the collar and yanked him closer. "Don't you dare say anything about my brother, if it wasn't for him you'd be dead. Now we're gonna stay here 'til the job is done so I don't want to hear no more of your goddamn complaining. Understood?"

Sean would have liked nothing better than so punch the hell out of Jon but both men knew it was Jon that had the superior strength not to mention loyalty of the other two. He had no choice but to comply…for now. "Understood," he murmured.

************************************************************   
**Outside JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1613 EST, July 3rd**   
Bud knew he had taken much longer for lunch than he normally took but he couldn't resist visiting the toy stores. Ever since Little AJ had entered his life Bud had taken an active interest in buying all the latest toys and games for his newborn son. The infant was only a few months old but he was growing so fast he wanted to be there to witness it all and ensure his child had the best of everything. Any new parent would understand. Only last week Harriet had spent close to a hundred dollars on clothes for their son so he wasn't alone in his obsession.

He wasn't too worried about taking a one-and-a-half hour lunch. It wasn't like the office was busy and the Admiral wouldn't mind so long as he made sure his work was completed. Besides, Bud had no desire to be witness to the beginnings of World War Three with Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Rabb being the main instigators, Admiral Chedwiggen a close second. Personally, Bud was upset the Commander was leaving, the man was his mentor and much like a brother figure to him, but he understood Rabb was leaving to do something he had to do. It wasn't fair to persecute him if he felt JAG was no longer what he needed in his career life. Obviously, the Colonel and the Admiral felt differently. They were certainly not hiding their emotions either.

When Bud finally pulled up in the JAG parking lot, he was stunned to see it swarming with NCIS officers and people with the letters 'FBI' emblazoned on the identical blue jackets they wore. His first thought was what if the Colonel really had killed the Commander but he dismissed that as sheer ludicrous.

Grabbing the nearest officer he recognized, he remembered to be named Lieutenant Luke Ashmore, he quizzed, "What's going on?"

The two men had been at the academy together and while Bud had moved to specialize in law, Ashmore was more in line with the NCIS and such operations, not to mention he was always up to speed on whatever gossip or scrap of information that was circulating through the ranks.

"Shots have been fired from JAG," Luke said, recollecting Bud from his academy days.

Bud's jaw dropped. "Shots? I just left there a couple of hours ago and everything was fine."

"You just left there?" Luke quickly led shocked officer to a tall, auburn-headed woman who seemed to be in the centre of the hubbub. The woman was giving orders to both Navy and FBI personnel alike and when she turned slightly, Bud could see he was wearing a dark FBI jacket. "Hey, Agent Harrison, this is Lieutenant Bud Roberts. He works at JAG, he was the last one out as far as I can figure."

The FBI agent shifted her focus immediately to Bud. "You were in there last?" she demanded to know. "Who was with you? How many people do you think are still in there?"

The JAG lieutenant scowled. "Who are you?" He didn't have a clue what the hell was going on and here there was some FBI agent harassing him for answers to God-knows-what.

The agent smiled apologetically. She held out her hand to Bud. "I'm sorry, I'm Special Agent Jennifer Harrison."

Bud shook the pre-offered hand numbly. "Lieutenant Bud Roberts...Can I ask what is the FBI doing here, Agent Harrison?"

"I'm in charge of the investigation into the possible hijacking of the JAG Headquarters." At his surprised look at her statement of leadership, she elaborated. "Oh, this is a joint operation between your NCIS and the Bureau but I have extensive experience in hostage negotiation and hijacking situations both in the civilian world and in the world of terrorism. I have a degree in clinical psychology and fifteen years with the Counter-Terrorism unit in the Bureau. The Navy and the FBI decided I would be the best person for this job."

This sounded all very impressive to Bud but quite truthfully he couldn't give a damn. There was only one thing that concerned him. "What do you mean the 'hijacking' of JAG?"

"It seems a couple of very unstable young men have a grudge against your Judge Advocate General and this is their way of getting even. Shots have been fired- two at last count- and attempts to contact the office via telephone and fax have failed."

"What?" This was JAG, this kind of mad shootings happened in the streets not in an office for the Navy. Bud was eternally grateful Harriet was away, he would have collapsed if she had been in there with those lunatics. "Do you know who the gunmen are? What they want?"

"Not yet but we know they took some of your weaponry and explosives. We'll try to get a visual soon I hope... We do think these are amateurs, Lieutenant, but even amateurs can kill. What I need to know from you are how many possible hostages are there?"

"Well, definitely Admiral Chedwiggen." Bud glanced around the parked lot and sighed heavily in despair when he saw both Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie's cars were still parked in the position they were in before he left for lunch. "I also think that Commander Harmon Rabb and Colonel Sarah Mackenzie are with him. Their cars are still here."

Harrison smiled and patted the younger man's arm in comfort. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, we'll get them out safely. Hell, they're trained well and we have half the US military out here ready. It'll be fine, I'm sure."

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1621 EST, July 3rd**   
Sean rubbed his aching shoulder. It was the damned old prick's fault he'd been shot and if he had his way he would have filled the asshole with lead. But Jon was so determined to keep all the hostages alive. The younger Navy guy was bleeding like a bitch, Sean had no grievances with him but saw little need in keeping him alive. He was going to die soon anyway and his little girlfriend was too much of a pain to let live. Sean didn't like the glint he witnessed in her eyes whenever she turned to study them.

It wasn't his idea to come out here. The only incentive was the money Jon was promising after the raids and now even the green wasn't enough. He didn't like being trapped like a caged animal, he wanted to get out of here. These were some kind of important military people they were holding, Sean wasn't stupid, he knew. Jon was a moron if he could make a break for it by not killing the hostages. The Feds and the military would shot his ass off before he even opened his mouth.

The others were backing Jon- Peter mainly because he was a little prick and Jon was his _big_ brother and Dan because he was the loyal type. But Sean knew Jon was weak. He wasn't going to spend another five years in the joint for his crap. No, the moment things turned bad he was going to waste those three hostages then get the hell away to Mexico.

************************************************************   
**Outside JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1701 EST, July 3rd**   
Bud had never been so nervous in all his life save from the day Harriet gave birth. He wasn't used to being on the firing line, that was one of the reasons he enjoyed his work at JAG so much- it was stimulating without having to worrying about being killed by maniacs. But he knew he was lucky; it was the Admiral, the Colonel and his mentor that were trapped. The young lieutenant was aware that the Admiral was a former SEAL, and the Colonel and Commander thrived on excitement but this was probably not what any of them had in mind.

Surprisingly, the FBI Special-Agent-in-Charge, Jennifer Harrison, was quite supportive compared to even the Navy officers working with the FBI to pacify the situation. Harrison was considerate to the fact that Bud had never really been in such circumstances before and explained everything to the younger man, ensuring he was well informed of everything going on. It was good to have an ally.

"Hey, Bud," called Harrison, "we're going to call in."

The blinds in the office had been shut by the hostage-takers thwarting attempts by FBI agents to get a visual using tiny cameras. The FBI was trying to bring in infrared sensors but until then Harrison had opted to contact the perpetrators.

"Ready?" Harrison asked the agents inside the communications van where the call would be monitored.

"Yes, sir," replied a young agent.

"Okay..." She picked up the phone and dialed the number for the JAG office.

After four rings, someone picked up. "We were waiting for the call," said a male voice, belonging to someone in there twenties to early thirties.

"This is Special Agent Jennifer Harrison from the FBI. To whom am I speaking to?"   
  
"Yeah right, we're not completely stupid, woman!"

Harrison sighed. "Okay, how about I call you...Bob." She was met with a grunt so she assumed that permission was granted. "Right, Bob, how are you doing?   
  
"Oh, I'm cool here, Fed, very cool."

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1702 EST, July 3rd**   
Jon had watched all the cop shows on television, hell he was practically raised on 'Starsky And Hutch', so he knew how the cops handled hostage situations. He had been expecting a phonecall and was mildly surprised it took them so long. Still, as anticipated, the Feds called in, in standard 'We-Are-You-Friends-Let-Us-Help-You' mode.

'His' Fed was female apparently and though she tried to come across as almost sisterly, Jon could tell she took no crap from anyone. Cops always pretended to be the criminals' friend then once they had their trust- boom! Obviously the FBI had still yet to cotton on to the fact that the whole of America- or everyone that owned a TV- knew how these little psychological techniques worked. Then there was the standard questions they asked, like how was he keeping. What could he say to that- 'Great, I'm involved in a Colonel crime, my baby brother is practically in shock at shooting an innocent man and one of my team is psychotic'?   
  
This wasn't how the theft was meant to be. Jon had worked all the details out at home, it was going to be so simple. Hostages and being cornered in some building was never in the plans. He didn't want to be here anymore and he sure as hell didn't want Petey here either. His kid brother thought he was tough but a military jail was no place for a sixteen-year-old kid.   
  
But what could he do now? He had no options and no plans other.

In a sarcastic tone, he replied to the Fed, "Oh, I'm cool here, Fed, very cool."

"That's good," said the Fed, though he could tell she really didn't give a damn. "What about the hostages? How are they?"

Jon paled at this. He was expecting her to ask but he didn't know how to reply. God, he hadn't meant for the Navy guy to get hurt. His father was in the Navy as was his grandfather before him, and he too had ties with the military organization, so he had always respected other officers. His father would have been so upset if he were alive to see what his sons were up to.   
  
"Eh..."

The Fed picked up on his reluctance. "What's wrong, Bob? Having problems? You have to tell me if any of the hostages are hurt." Her voice was now demanding.

Jon sighed. No, he didn't want for that man to die, if there was any way the Feds could help then he had to find it. "Yeah," he replied, feigning arrogance and nonchalance. "One of them's been shot." Jon could hear gasps in the background but the Fed woman was surprisingly calm. But then, she was FBI- though she no doubt felt for the injured person, she wasn't Navy.

"Who?"   
  
"The younger Navy officer. Rabb, I think his name is Rabb or something. He was already shot in the leg and hit his head then my...associate shot in him the chest by accident. It _*was*_ an accident, it wasn't his fault. He didn't mean to shoot anyone..."

"That's all very well but we need to get Rabb to a hospital. Can you send him out? If he has a chest wound then he needs immediate medical attention, not to mention the other injuries will make his condition a great deal more serious."

Jon wanted them to take the wounded officer away, he wanted to save the man's life, but he knew that by doing that it might encourage the Feds to get ideas. They might think he was soft.

"No, I know how it works. You take him then you barge in. I don't think so, go try your sob story on some other patsy."

"He'll die," spat out the Fed.

"Then...then he'll die." With that he slammed the phone down, shutting his eyes as he came to grips with the fact he was probably costing the life of a innocent guy just in an attempt to save his own ass in a downhill situation...no-win situation.

************************************************************   
**Outside JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1706 EST, July 3rd**   
That son-of-a-bitch! Bud had never experienced such anger as he did at this moment. He couldn't believe that no-good layabout had shot Commander Rabb. How dare they invade his office and shoot his friends down. He felt some relief that the Admiral and the Colonel were physically okay but he felt sickened to think of the pain Rabb was going through. He couldn't even imagine the torture he must be feeling.

Although Bud was close to Admiral Chedwiggen and almost looked to him as a father figure, there was a special bond between him and Commander Rabb. The older man was like a brother to him that always looked out for him since the day he joined JAG. Rabb was young enough for Bud to identify with him. Rabb was also was too young to die. He hadn't even settled down yet. But he wouldn't die, he was practically immortal. People as young and brave as Commander Rabb didn't die...did they?

Agent Harrison noticed the young lieutenant pale as they heard one of the hostages- Commander Rabb- had been shot. Rabb was well known in the Violent Crimes Unit of the Bureau after the Lewis case, bringing to justice a violent child murderer. He sounded like a good man. Bud Roberts was probably too innocent to know it was always the honourable and the good that fell first. Still, that didn't make it any easier and she was already dreaming of her hands squeezing the air out of the necks of these scum just for ruining Roberts' childlike innocence.

"What are you going to do?" Bud asked.

"Wait, we need to think before we act. We can't just go in there guns blazing, that would be suicide and would probably just get the hostages killed."

"Those 'hostages' are my friends!" Bud said fiercely.

It was a habit of speaking of hostages like they were just a bag of potatoes- distancing oneself from the innocents of the crime made it easier to work, emotions could not be allowed to cloud one's mind. It just sounded awful and brutal to the poor sods that were acquainted with the hostages.

Harrison put a calming hand on the young man. "I know that, Lieutenant...Bud, but we have to concentrate on those friends just now. We will get them out, you'll see."

"But what about the Commander?"

His voice sounded so forlorn he reminded her of her little brother on the day their dog died. Bud Roberts was still a kid when it came to the experiences and things she had seen. But all kids had to grow up and it seemed today was a Colonel step for him in that growing up and seeing the big, bad world.

"He's strong, he'll be fine," Harrison assured him, her tone sounding hollow to both of them. "I'll bet Commander Rabb has survived helluva worse than this, I'm sure-"

She was cut off when a fellow agent, Simon Grant, rushed up to her. "Jen! We gotta make!"   
  
And about time to.

She turned her full attention to Grant. "Well?"

"From the security cameras from the weapons store, we were able to see we are dealing with four perpetrators. Then running those faces past the guy at the gate we got some names." He thrust four files into her hands. "Our main guy we think is one Jon Owen. Twenty-six years old, been in and outta jail for small things as a juvenile and, get this, he's in the Navy Reserves. That's how they got in. Him and another guy, Daniel Ross, were both Navy Reserves."

"Great pick they got. What about the other two?"

"Well, we got a young 'un- a sixteen-year-old Peter Owen, the younger brother of Jon Owen. He's a model kid basically, found nothing on him. He's kind of a sandwich short of a picnic, not quite as bright as a normal kid but he's nothing really for us to worry about. Our other guy, though, is a real piece of work. Sean Baxter. He's a real asshole; been in trouble since he was eight. Attempted murder, manslaughter, attempted rape, serious assault, B and E, drink driving...the list is endless."

"Doesn't sound good..."

"What does that mean?" Bud had been listening to the conversation and had picked up her negativity.

She sighed. "That means we have a bunch of psychos up there, Bud. A bunch of psychos who can't be reasoned with. We may have no alternative but to storm the place."

"But you said that was dangerous."

"It is but it's better to risk it than have three definite dead officers on our hands."

"Do you think you can get them out of there alive?"

"Yes, we have the best team in the country here ready and waiting. I know we can do this. They'll be fine, you'll see."

"Do you really believe that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes, I do." Inwardly they both knew the truth. 'No, but it sounds good.'

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1923 EST, July 3rd**   
Mac wasn't sure if they would get out of this with their lives. Not even five hours had passed and Harm was weakening at an alarming rate. Every breath he took was a struggle and though the bleeding from the bullet wounds had stopped, he was still coughing up blood and was in extreme pain. Oh, he tried to hide it like he would when he tried to protect her but she knew. Of course, their sons-of-bitches captors couldn't give a damn. The young one had brought a blanket and some water in for Harm- probably driven by guilt- but that was the extent of their 'hospitality'.

Harm shifted in her arms. He had fallen into an uncomfortable sleep some hours ago and Mac was relieved he was finally waking up. She wasn't so selfish that she wanted him to be aware of his terrible pain but she was terrified he would slip away quietly without her knowing. If he were awake there was less chance of that happening. She wouldn't let him go.

"Harm? Are you with me?" she asked gently.

He moaned. "...Yeah, I'm here, Mac...What time...is it?"

"Nineteen twenty-three hours," she replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Even more crappy...than before...if that's possible."

Mac smiled. "Do you want some water?"

"Mm-hmm." He managed to swallow some water then turned away. "Have they...asked for...anything?"

Chedwiggen faced them. "Not yet, Commander, but they've been awfully busy just now. I think the FBI and security units have got wind of what's going on. It's only a matter of time before they do something. From my SEAL experiences, I think-"

He was cut off when the door opened and the boy, Peter, hesitantly peered in. Slowly, he opened the door fully and made his way across the floor to where the three officers were located. Under his arm was a bag that he placed beside him as he knelt down in front of Harm, not quite meeting the lawyer's eyes.

"Eh...I brought you guys some food and stuff," he said shyly, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought you might be hungry." From the bag, he extracted several bags of chips, a few candy bars and four bottles of water. Then from another pocket, he took out two towels. "That's for...that's for the blood, to help stop the bleeding."   
  
Mac glared at the boy. She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries considering she was cradling the body of her dying partner. "Peter? That is your name isn't it?" The kid nodded, deflating at her hardened tone. "Peter, my partner is very, very badly hurt. Candy bars and a towel are not going to save him. If he dies, it will be the fault of you and your wonderful friends." She didn't want to admit her worry and fear over Harm's condition in front of him but she had to show this boy that the whole situation was not a kiddy's game anymore.

"I...I..."

The Admiral shot Mac a glare. "What the Colonel means, son, is that we need to get the Commander to a hospital. He's very sick and we know you're trying to help but what we need is to get out of here."   
  
"He'll be fine, Jon said he would be," the boy said, haltingly.

"Well, Jon is _*wrong*_!" snapped Mac. She didn't have the impatience for this kid's ignorance, not when Harm was dying in her arms.   
  
Peter stumbled back, startled. "He's my big brother, he knows best. If he said everything is gonna be fine then it is." It was the most the boy had said but there was still a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Sometimes brothers lie, Peter."

"Not Jonny," was the mumbled reply.

"Then I ask you, does Commander Rabb look okay to you?"

Peter's lowered eyes drifted up to Harm's weakened form. "...No, I guess not...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I've never shot anyone before, I didn't mean it."

Harm mustered up the strength to lay his conscience to rest. "It...not your...fault, Pete...It was an...acci...accident."

Mac could tell that Harm had taken pity on this boy. He was lying here bleeding to death and still he managed to feel for the person who had hurt him.

"You do know the FBI and the NCIS- our security unit- won't just allow this to go on, son," the Admiral said gently. He recognized this boy had not properly grasped the seriousness of the situation. "They will storm this building and they may kill you and your brother during the operation. Do you want to see your brother hurt?"   
  
"No...but Sean will get mad if I ask to let you go."

The officers didn't need to ask who Sean was, they all knew the psycho member of the four.   
  
Peter sighed, glancing down at Harm. "What do you want me to do? I can't do anything."

"First you can get the key to these cuffs." At Peter's attempt to protest, the Admiral said in a gruffer tone, "Peter, you have to do this or we can't do anything to help, we'll be sitting ducks. You're a tough kid, I know, I've met a lot of kids. You can do this."

"...'kay, I'll try."

When the boy dashed away, the door locking behind him, Mac turned to glare at her superior officer. "You were far too soft on him, sir."

Chedwiggen smiled grimly. "He's not a cadet, Colonel, he's just a scared little kid out playing soldiers with big brother. We have to treat as such if we are to get him to assist."   
  
"Sir, that 'scared little kid' is one of our only hopes of getting of here alive."   
  
"Beggars can't be choosers, Colonel." He looked down on Rabb, who was squirming slightly trying to find a more comfortable position away from his pain- a moot point really. "And we will get out of here alive so you better not give up, Commander. You wouldn't want a court martial."

Harm smiled crookedly but it was not enough to ease Chedwiggen's sense of unease.

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**2023 EST, July 3rd**   
The pain...

The white-hot agony burning through his chest and deep into his lung was the most intense sensation Harm had ever been aware of. Coming a close second was the throbbing, blinding pain flashing through his brain. It made him sick to his stomach but just the thought of heaving his chest to throw-up was enough to induce another wave of pain.

It scared him every time he had to fight for each breath; for all the effort he put in to encourage his damaged lung to consume oxygen all he could get was a wheezy gasp. It was as if a heavy tonne weight had taken residence on his chest, pressing with unyielding determination to halt any attempts from his body to breath.

Now, as if he wasn't already feeling like hell, Harm felt the flush of fever scorching through his exhausted body. During the frequent fever spikes that plagued him, he had the strangest of dreams, some frightening and some just plain odd. He flashbacked to the day his father left him then going on to visualize his father's actual crash. Then he dreamt of his own crash, of seeing Annie Lewis' broken little body...

He yearned for it to all stop. That it would all go away.

"...hear me? Harm? Harm, come on now, you're scaring me. Wake up."

Suddenly Mac's concerned voice broke his terrors. Her hand gently patted his clammy cheek, his eyes fluttering in response. He moaned as the fuzzy world of reality permeated across his torment-wracked body.

"...Mac?" he rasped.

Her hold around him tightened for a moment and he could read the obvious worry and anguish in her deep brown eyes despite his own agonizing pain. She was pleading for him to hang on. Mac was his partner and best friend, he would do almost anything for her, but for once he didn't think he could do as she wanted of him. He didn't think he could hang on for much longer. The smell of death was suffocating the air.

"Hey, partner, are you with me?" At his weak nod, she smiled. "Good. Here, you should have some water. Drink as much as you can. You're dehydrated."

What was the point? He was dying.

However, obediently, he allowed Mac to fed him the bottled-water though after no more than a few mouthfuls and he felt gorged.

"...Where's...'miral?"

Chedwiggen's face appeared in his line-of-sight. "I'm here. How are you feeling, Harm? You're going to be fine, son."

Harm? The admiral never called him by his first name, especially since his departure from JAG. It just emphasized how dismal the situation looked to the ex-SEAL.

"Wha's...happen'n?" He was actually asking about any developments with Peter's offer of assistance but didn't have the strength to utter more than a handful of words. He trusted Mac to know what he meant.

Mac exchanged a glance with Chedwiggen. "Nothing yet, but we'll be out of here soon so you have to hang on. Okay?"

"...dunno..."

A tear escaped Mac's eye, rolling down her cheek only to drip onto his face. "Harm, you can't go giving up now, not after surviving all this."

"They'll win if you go giving up now, son," encouraged Chedwiggen. "You don't want those pieces of shits to win, do you? Boy, I've never known you to be such a quitter when times get tough. Don't go proving me wrong now."

"Promise me you'll hang on," Mac pleaded.

Harm shifted slightly, sighing only to have an excruciating cramp pervaded across his chest, reminding him of why he was this position in the first place. He didn't want to promise Mac, not to that. The only thing he wanted to say was 'goodbye' but for her he supposed he could try harder for a little longer.

"..try..." he murmured as his eyes slid shut.

Just as he drifted back into the bliss of unconsciousness he was aware of Mac's stifled sobbing wracking her body in turn jostling him. Emotional pain, over-taking any physical pain he had, washed into him. He didn't want to hurt her; he just wasn't sure, for all his victories in the court and the air, if he win this battle.

************************************************************   
**Outside JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**0038 EST, July 4th**   
Life had almost always been organized and predictable for Bud Roberts. He got up in the morning, made breakfast for his wife and child, went to work, came home then spent time with his small family. There were the occasional disruptions in his order such as Harriet's unexpected labour and the joys of watching AJ develop a new skill each day but other than that he was the model for pattern and regularity.

Gunmen were not supposed to barge into his place of work and shoot his mentor. He was not meant to be out-and-about after midnight waiting to see if his colleagues would survive the night.

Bud just wanted to take his baby boy into his arms and hold Harriet in the comforts of their home, knowing all was well in their world. He was eternally grateful that Harriet was not in the building when the hi-jacking took place, he wasn't sure if he could deal with his wife being held by psychos while he waited helplessly outside.

An infinitesimal amount of guilt welled up at his selfishness despite knowing it was understandable since his responsibilities as a husband and father superceded everything. But still he decided to focus on something else. Like his commanding officers and two of his good friends. He wasn't sure he would even see Commander Rabb alive again.

Sighing, Bud slumped into the seat of the gray Ford Taurus that he had taken up residence in. He buried his head in his hands, blocking out the violence around him if for just a minute.

"Bud, honey."

A touch on his shoulder and he looked up to see his wife standing in front of him, worry clouding her eyes. Bud stood up and embraced her, forcing back his tears.

"H-how did you get here? Where's AJ?" he asked suddenly, pulling back slightly.

"AJ is still at Mom's place. This was all over the news and when they said three officers were being held...I was so afraid it was you. Anyway, I phoned and they told me it was the Admiral, the Colonel and Commander Rabb. What's he doing here? I thought he'd be in Pensacola or at sea."

"He had some leave, he came home to see Colonel Mackenzie," Bud droned. "Harriet...he's been shot. It must be bad, they've been in there for ages."

Harriet was stunned. Before she could reply, Jennifer Harrison approached the young couple. "How's it going?" she asked with a grim smile. Bud could tell something was bothering her.

"As well as can be expected. Agent Harrison, this is my wife Harriet. Harriet, this is Agent Harrison- the FBI agent heading the operation." Harriet was surprised by this news but she quietly shook hands with the FBI agent. "What's going on? I know you have something planned but you're trying to think of a way to tell me."

Harrison hid a smile. "You'll make a helluva lawyer with those observation skills, Roberts...You're right. The NCIS and I have come to a decision. Bud, we're going to storm the place. Your friend is injured badly and these fools won't talk to us to put an end to this charade. This is the only option."

"Storm the place?!" Bud stood to full height. "You're kidding, aren't you? That will get them all killed."

Blinking in astonishment, Harriet came to his side in an unconscious attempt to back her husband up. She had never seen him so forceful in the presence of someone who had senior rank, albeit honourary. Bud was the type of man who was kindly and at times nervous. Now he shared the determination she had seen in Harmon Rabb during one of his 'quests'. She had to admit this change was heartening.

Bud's eyes darted around and he noticed that both Navy and FBI personnel were dressed in combat gear, a few wearing absailing equipment preparing to descend from the rooftop. As naive as he came across, Bud wasn't completely ignorant. He knew the statistics when it came to armed raids in a hostage situation. The majority of the time the hostage was dead just seconds after entry. Very few survived.

"This is ludicrous, you don't know what those maniacs will do if they see you."

"Well, hopefully they'll be dead or in custody by the time they see us."

"You don't even know what's going on in there."

"True," conceded Harrison, "but we can't just sit here the whole night and day waiting. Commander Rabb is bleeding to death, he needs medical attention now or we will be dealing with one definite fatality. Is that what you want?"

The older woman was right, of course. Commander Rabb was strong but he wasn't superman and it wouldn't be fair of them to ask for him to suffer so much. But was it right to possibly sacrifice Admiral Chedwiggen and the Colonel for his mentor?

Harriet placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Agent Harrison is right, Bud. This is the only way."

Bud sighed and Harrison took that as a near-agreement, though in actual fact he really had no say in the matter. "Listen to your wife, Bud. We'll get them all out of there safely. And I am after all one of the best strategists in the Bureau. You have to trust us, the FBI have done dozens of this type of operation before."

He nodded wearily. "Just...just try to be careful." At this, the FBI agent smiled and turned to see to her colleagues. "Agent, Harrison?" She faced him. "If the FBI is so great and trustworthy then what happened at Waco?"

Instead of being angry, Harrison seemed amused at his question and almost pleased he found the courage to voice it. "Hey, what can I say, kiddo? I wasn't there that day. We'll be moving in about ten minutes or so."   
  
When her back was turned to the young JAG officers, Harrison sighed heavily at the order she had just signed to allow the raid to go-ahead. She just hoped she wasn't signing three death certificates.

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**0055 EST, July 4th**   
Peter had spent his entire life being known as 'the little one' or 'the kid', he had always been seen as the young, helpless one. He himself was aware he was never the brightest; at school he struggled with the studies most of his classmates flew through with confidence and he had been forced to stay at junior high an extra year since the high school was unwilling to take him. But despite all his difficulties, he never had any problems with bullying, neither in or out or school. Jon always ensured he was looked after.

When their father died, Peter was just eight years old. It had been Jon- then himself little more than a child at fifteen- that had taken him under his wing, raising him where their grief-stricken mother could not. Jon was always there for him, making sure he was safe.

And now it was his turn to return the favour.

Peter wasn't completely stupid, he knew their chances of getting out of here alive. He had heard Jon tell Dan that since there was now a casualty, things were looking increasingly dim for them. They could all die because _*he*_ had shot. It was up to him to make sure Jon was safe, it was his turn to play the mature brother.   
  
He would do anything for Jon so that was why, after deep pondering, he discreetly pick-pocketed from Sean and prepared to free the hostages.

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**0056 EST, July 4th**   
Admiral Chedwiggen glanced at the two young officers mournfully. He couldn't help but think how right they looked together and it saddened him to the core as he wondered if Rabb would make it out alive to see how good he and Mackenzie were when they weren't too busy arguing.

Rabb's condition had deteriorated to the point where fever-induced hallucinations and disorientation marred his brief spells of consciousness. His breathing were little more than pitiful gasps for air interrupted by the occasional moan of pain. His skin was bleached and his lips and the nail beds of his fingers were a bluish tinge, indicating oxygen deprivation. Harm had already suffered one episode of respiratory arrest, luckily they were able to revive him and restart his breathing quickly...but what of the next time?

Both he and Mac were aware Harm was slipping from them. He was dying.

Chedwiggen was never one to allow depression to take a stronghold over him until now. For all intents and purposes, he too had given up to the conclusion they were not going to make it out of this alive. Harm would leave them but he and Mackenzie were sure to join soon after. He had tried hard to get his young officers of this, as a SEAL and their senior officer he felt an obligation to them, but he had resigned himself to the inevitable.

The handcuffs securing him and Mackenzie to the radiator pipes would not give and despite Rabb being the only one free of the chains, he was not going anywhere. The three main gunmen were not stupid and kept their distance so any mode of psychical attack was impossible and the fourth gunman, young Peter, was a kid. And it seemed now that the kid was not going to come through for them, that they were on their own after all.

Mac no longer cared about whether they escaped or not. Such thoughts were secondary; now all she cared about was Harm. She held his limp body to her tightly, rocking him at times clearly aware that they were losing him. She would talk to him, trying to rouse him to a greater level of consciousness with no avail. Now she resorted to whispering to him, words only meant to be heard by the two of them.

Abruptly, as she moved under him, he groaned and squirmed slightly. She stroked his feverish cheek. "Harm, can you hear? Are you in there, partner?" Barely perceptibly, he nodded. "We were worried there for a moment, you fazed out on us."

"...sor...ry..."

"It's okay, Commander," replied the Admiral, managing a weak smile. "I'm sure we can forgive you."

"...Time?"

"It's zero fifty-six hours,

"Happy...Inde...pen..dence Day...Mac."

She smoothed his hair back. "Happy Independence Day to you, Harm. How are you feeling?"

"...Crap...Wanna...die..."

Mac's movement's stilled suddenly. She exchanged a glance with Chedwiggen, whose eyes were heavy and saddened. Harm? Die? He couldn't die. He was Harm, he was meant to be filled with self-confidence and determination. He didn't just abruptly decide he wanted to pack up and die.

Her hold on him tightened and she glowered at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You're not going to just quit on me now, Harm. I won't let you."

"...hurts...M'c..."

She choked back her tears. It was hard to watch anyone suffer but when that person was a friend, it was impossible. "I know, Harm, I know it hurts but you just have to hang on. It won't be long now, we will get out of here. I-"

She was cut off when the door inched open and Peter slipped into the room. He was shifting from foot-to-foot looking more like a nervous six-year-old on his first day of school than an armed teenager involved in a major Naval hostage crisis. His eyes, like always, first rested on Harm then quickly jumped to Chedwiggen's as if he could no longer look at a man who was in pain caused by his hands.

"Eh...Jon and Sean are in the kitchen eating," Peter said. He pulled out a set of keys from his jean pocket. "Here, that will open the handcuffs. I can't help no more than that." The boy proceeded to unlock the handcuffs, first Chedwiggen's then Mac's.

Chedwiggen rubbed his severely bruised wrists while Mac's other arm immediately came around Harm to hold him more securely. The Admiral studied the blood-soaked pair; for all the pain and violence surrounding them they looked like two close friends supporting one another. He had always seen the chemistry between the two, it was evident from the day they had first met. As their senior officer, he was not one to encourage inter-office relations but he had hoped Rabb and Mackenzie would out-grow their bickering and make something more of their partnership. Now Chedwiggen just worried if Rabb would be alive to do anything at all.

"How will we get Harm out of here?" Mac quizzed. "He can't walk and moving might kill him."

"...leave...me..." gasped out Harm.

"That is not an option, Commander," Chedwiggen said firmly. "Perhaps, between the two of us, the Colonel and I can carry you."

Peter sighed then said, "And I can help too. But you have to promise you won't let them hurt my brother. You have to promise he'll be okay."

"We'll try our best, son." The Admiral and the teenager reached to lift limp Harm from Mac's cradle.

"You little _*shit*_!"

They turned to see Sean baring down on them, his gun pointed squarely at the Admiral's head, but his glare aimed at Peter. He moved forward towards the petrified boy.

"I knew you were a little traitor all along," he spat out. "And I don't give a damn about Jonny-boy, I'm gonna see you get what's comin' to ya." The Admiral stepped in front of Peter protectively. "Old Man, move out the way or I kill ya too."   
  
At all the commotion, Jon barged into the room to find Sean aiming the gun at the Admiral, who was in turn using his body to protect his brother, while Mac held Harm helplessly on the floor ready to protect him at any cost. Jon scowled. It was one thing trying to kill the Navy officer, but no one tried to kill his family let alone his baby brother.

Coolly, he brought his gun up to Sean. "Put that down or I'll shot you dead."

"Your little shit of a brother was letting them go," Sean jeered, not taking his eyes off Peter.

"I don't give a damn, you get your goddamn gun off my brother. Now!"

"You don't have the guts to kill me, Owen."

"Wanna bet your life on that?"

It was in those few tense seconds that everything went straight to hell.

From the floor, Mac had front row seats. Her hands were occupied with cradling Harm so she could not cover her ears to the deafening thuds as the boarded up windows were kicked in. Helmeted figures in black dived inside, guns armed and ready for actions. Shouts of 'Freeze!" vibrated through the office and then there was the thunderous fire of weapons.

Mac could only watch in stunned horror as the Admiral's body slammed to the floor by the force that could only come with being hit by a stray bullet. Peter, no longer hidden by Chedwiggen, brought his own gun up in panic and the bullets of FBI and NCIS weaponry hammered into him, his blood splattering Mac but it was indistinguishable from Harm's. Screaming, Jon fell to his brother's side, trying to shake the boy awake. Nothing, not even the greatest surgeon in the world, could heal the gaping hole in the youngster's skull.

Sean swung his gun to the closest officer spurring the reflexes of the other officers keyed to guarding their own. Rounds of ammunition from around ten different law enforcement guns emptied into Sean's body, leaving his chest no more than a bloodied pulp.

And it all took no more than around a minute for the rage to lull.

Shouts of 'officers down' and calls for medical help were heard. The Admiral slowly and stiffly sat up, bleeding from his shoulder. But Mac was oblivious to all of this, her concentration focused on her drifting partner.

"Harm..." she said softly, touching his cheek to get his waning attention. "Harm, look at me."

Harm smiled gently at her, his eyes glazed and not entirely on her anymore but focused to the distance. "...M'c...over?"

"Yes, it's all over now. We can get you to a hospital now."

He shook his head weakly. "No...Light...so...close..."

The Light...Mac's grandmother had been Cherokee and in those rare occasions Mac had spent with the woman during her childhood there was one thing she remembered most. It was when her grandmother was succumbing to the cancer that was ravaging her body. Mac's father had taken his tearful ten-year-old daughter to say a last goodbye to the woman who was her grandmother. But when her grandmother had seen her tears, she smiled and said she was not going to suffer any longer, she was going to The Light.

And even as a ten-year-old child, Mac had understood The Light had meant death.

"No, Harm, you have to stay here, don't go."

"...t'red..." Suddenly there was a striking clarity in his azure eyes and he gathered his strength up, raising a weak hand to touch her chin. "...M'c...want you to...know...that I...always loved...you..."

Mac was stunned. Before she could reply, his hand dropped like a dead weight and his eyes shut. In her hold, she felt his body grow slack. A wave of dread washed through her. Mimicking Jon's movements, she shook Harm non-too-gently seeking a response, any response of life from him. She received nothing. There was no pulse, no strong chest movements to signify breathing.

"Come on, Harm. You can't do this to me."

She laid him flat on the floor, and leaning over him she filled his lungs with her own breath, starting CPR. A young NCIS agent knelt opposite her and began chest compressions. Mac resisted the urge to slap him, continuing to provide him with the oxygen his own failing body could not longer produce.

*You're not dead, you're not dead* she thought inwardly like a mantra. He couldn't be dead, not after admitting his love to her. Life couldn't be that cruel.

Admiral Chedwiggen gently eased her back, allowing the EMT's to take over. The two officers could only watch in fear and hope as the medics hooked Harm up to an cardiac monitor, which instantly displayed the whining flat-line of death. They tried to shock Harm back to life using the defibrillator. The first attempt to re-start his heart failed but on the second, they were rewarded with the slow beeps of tentative life.   
  
Mac gasped with relief though she knew he still had a long way to go before they would be certain he was okay. Harm was gently transferred to a stretcher, the wounds to his chest, head and leg covered with heavy gauze. The EMT's started an IV with plasma and blood to replenish his fluid supply. Mac nearly choked as a trach tube was inserted into Harm's throat, which was then attached to an automatic ventilation pump that assisted his severely laboured breathing.

The elder of the EMT's, a man in his late forties, smiled kindly at her reaction. "Don't worry, Ma'am, it's there to help him. He doesn't have the strength to breathe for himself. He doesn't feel it."

What was supposed to be a reassuring statement did not assure Mac at all.

"Can...can I ride with you to the hospital?"

The EMT was about to deny her request but at her pleading eyes he sighed. "Okay, there's a chopper ready to take him to Bethesda but we have to move now."

Mac followed behind the stretcher being carried by the EMT's, two NCIS officers also giving a helping hand. Chedwiggen watched them leave his office before almost collapsing in on himself. Just twenty-four hours ago everything had been fine. Now he had been held hostage, a man he looked on as a good friend was critically injured, another of his officers was traumatized and his office looked like a slaughterhouse.

He felt someone guide him to a chair and found himself staring in the solemn eyes of Bud and Harriet Roberts. Both young officers wore identical expressions of worry and concern but remained focused on him, oblivious to all the commotion and milling about of FBI agents and NCIS officers as they bagged the bodies and pried Jon from his brother's bloodied corpse.

"Admiral, are you okay?" Bud asked. "You need to see a doctor."

"I'm fine," murmured Chedwiggen.

"With all due respect, sir, no, you're not fine." Chedwiggen looked up in surprise at the strength in the normally bumbling Bud's voice. "You need medical help, you've been shot."   
  
"Come on, sir," Harriet said.

The husband and wife pair led their superior officer from the devastated office building. Outside the trio saw Harm being loaded into the air ambulance ready for transport to Bethesda. Chedwiggen shook his head sadly. When were they ever going to be cut a break?   
  
************************************************************   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**0629 EST, July 4th**   
Upon arriving at the hospital, Chedwiggen had been treated immediately for his shoulder wound. He was now sporting heavy bandages around his shoulder, his left arm nestled in a sling. It was a through-and-through shot so no surgery was required. He had been fortunate...which was definitely not the case for Commander Rabb. His outcome was yet to be determined.

Now, the four JAG officers- Mac, Chedwiggen, Bud and Harriet- sat in the Surgical Waiting Room of Bethesda Naval Hospital awaiting any shred of news regarding Harm's condition. It had been a long and tiring interval and Mac had finally come to the exhaustion, falling asleep against Harriet an hour ago.

The young lieutenant had helped clean up the blood from Mac's hands and face but Mac was determined not to waste time going home to change when Harm needed her. When it came to determination and stubbornness, she and Harm both rated as bad as the other.

Chedwiggen was pleased to see Mac was sleeping. It had been difficult for her to be there watching Harm's pain but not being able to help him; she had to be tired from the frustration and strain. Also, in sleep she was safe from all the vultures from the media who were lapping up on the whole hostage story and the Navy commander seriously injured during the whole incident. His, Harm and Mac's faces were plastered all over the national news and papers, their mobile phones going into overload at the all the reporters calling up (Hell only knew were they got their numbers).

It was then the Admiral had to make the devastating call to Harm's mother and stepfather to inform them of their son's injuries. They were flying out straight away and he was not looking forward to see them. How could he face these people and tell them their son was dying because he tried to save his superior officer from being shot?

Just as he himself was drifting into a doze, a voice queried, "Excuse me, are you the next of kin to Harmon Rabb?"

Mac jolted out of her light sleep to see a graying man standing in front of her. All four of the anxious officers stood to their feet apprehensive for some good news. He was wearing surgical greens and his wearied but alert face told of hours in surgery. His caring brown eyes met Mac's, who nodded to his question.

"I am Doctor Joseph Croft, I am the surgeon who operated on the Commander." He wore the rank of captain but introduced himself as doctor. Mac found it distinctly comforting that he took his duties as a physician above his duties as a Navy officer.

"How is he, Doctor?" Chedwiggen asked.

"Why don't we sit down?" Mac exchanged a look with the Admiral. They never told you to sit unless it was bad but nevertheless they did as asked. "Well, the good news is that Commander Rabb has survived the surgery." He smiled at their sighs of relief before his expression grew grave once more. "But I won't lie to you, the surgery was not without complications. He did crash on us twice but we got him going fairly quickly. The damage to his left lung was extensive mainly due to the long time it took for him to get here. We have patched it up but now fluid is starting to build up in the lung which is putting strain on his heart."

"What does that mean?" Mac quizzed.

"It means there is the danger of congestive heart failure, however hopefully we will avoid that problem. Now we've transfused him and he's receiving fresh frozen plasma to make up for the massive blood loss he suffered. Hypovolemia is the last thing he needs. As for his leg, we've put in pins to hold the broken tibia in place and he'll need those for the next six to ten weeks which is really the least of his concerns. We ran a EEG and CAT scan to find out the extent of his head injury and luckily though he only has a concussion, there is no skull fracture."

Mac gathered up to courage to ask the ultimate question. "What are his chances? Will he live, Doctor?"

Croft sighed. "He does have a long battle ahead of him, he went for hours without medical help and his injuries are serious. For now, his condition is critical but stable; it's all up to him...but I will tell you one thing. From what he's been through and still has to go through, his callsign should be renamed 'Lazarus'."   
  
"Can we see him?"   
  
"He's in recovery at the moment, but we'll be moving him up to ICU within the next two or three hours. I'll allow you in when we've got him settled. They're quite strict in the ICU so only one person will be allowed in for fifteen minutes every hour."

The doctor shook hands with the Admiral then went about his rounds. Mac slumped further into the chair, her head in her hands. Harm was alive, he was going to make...he _*had*_ to. From what Croft had said, Harm was lucky.

Yeah right, he was real 'lucky'. Doctor Croft was right about one thing- the nickname 'Lazarus' suited Harm to a tee.

************************************************************   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**0934 EST, July 4th**   
Patricia Rabb-Burnett had arrived at the hospital where her son was being treated six hours after hearing of his involvement in the Navy Hostage Crisis, as the media had so 'imaginatively' dubbed it. In the pit of her stomach, whilst watching about the situation on the news in her home in California, she had somehow felt Harm was connected with it. Tricia knew her son was now stationed in Pensacola, Florida, but she just had a feeling. When Harm's former CO, Admiral Chedwiggen, had called to tell her Harm was in critical condition after being mortally wounded, her fears were confirmed.   
  
Frank had immediately booked up his private jet to fly them both to Washington DC. For all the conflict between the pair, Frank did love Harm like a father loved a son. Harm just didn't want to see the truth at times.   
  
Why did God have to punish her in this way? Tricia wasn't exactly a religious person but she did believe there was something out there. Still, it was times like this she began to doubt her even limited faith. She had lost her husband at such a young age and his father before him had died early too. Why Harm? He was so good and pure, he didn't deserve to die like this.

"He's going to be okay," Frank reassured her as they waited impatiently in the lift to take them to the ICU wing of the military hospital. "You'll see. The boy is tough."

Tricia already knew how tough her son was. He had coped remarkably with his father's death at aged five, at sixteen he had withstood an impromptu trip to Vietnam and then there was all those near misses, crashes and war-like conditions he had endured in his time with the Navy...Tricia just wondered how much tougher he was expected to be. How many lives did he have before his luck ran dry?

She had overcome Harmon Senior's death for her five-year-old son's sake; she didn't think she could deal with losing Harm.

Finally, the husband and wife reached their destination, finding four military officers camped outside the unit. The young dark-haired woman Tricia knew instantly was Sarah Mackenzie. Harm had talked about her enough to recognize this woman on sight.   
  
Introductions ensued, and the Burnetts' quickly learned that the older, imposing man was in fact Admiral Chedwiggen and the young couple were Bud and Harriet Roberts. Tricia knew them from when Harm had mentioned he was the godfather to their newborn son.

Five minutes later, Harm's attending physician- a Doctor Joseph Croft- briefed them on Harm's condition and informed them he was now settled in ICU, ready for visitors. Croft was a caring man who always wanted the best for his patient and when he gazed around the crowd he relented to bending the rules.

"Okay," he sighed, "I'm going to allow two people to see the Commander every fifteen minutes past the hour but you must keep out of the nurses' way and try not to disturb anyone. Understood?"

"Understood, Doctor," Mac smiled, despite the grim situation.

"So, who wants to visit go first?"   
  
Frank glanced at Mac and shared a knowing look with his wife. "You and the Colonel should go in first, Trish. I'm sure Harm would appreciate that."

"No, it's okay," Mac protested. "I don't mind waiting. You're his father, you must want to see him."

"I insist, Colonel. You were with him during those terrible hours, you should go to him now."

Mac smiled slightly. "Thank you."

With that, Doctor Croft guided Mac and Tricia into the ICU. Neither woman really knew what to expect when they saw Harm. Tricia had been in hospitals before, both as a patient and as a visitor, but her visits never entailed more than a trip to the maternity ward or the ER. Here it was quiet, the nurses' eyes riveted to the monitors in the reception- there was no time for crosswords and idle chatter. The tranquility only served to make things all the more haunting.

In the harsh lighting of the small ICU room, Tricia gasped when she set eyes on her normally so lively son. She felt Mac stiffen beside her, aware it was only her military training which stopped her from duplicating her reaction.

Harm lay still in the bed, his skin a bleached white and his lips held the slightly grayish hue of lingering death. Tubes and wires encompassed him, reminding Tricia morbidly of a robot from an old science fiction film of the sixties. There was a large tube coiling from his mouth which was attached to what Tricia guessed was a ventilator judging from the calculated rise and fall of Harm's chest in time to the machine's pumping. Blood and fluid IV's snaked into his arms. His chest, just below the heart, was heavily bandaged and under the blankets Tricia could see his left leg was propped up from where Mac had said he was shot. His head was wrapped in gauze, with all the bandages, he looked like a half-completed Egyptian mummy.

What was most horrifying was the fact his eyes were taped shut. It made everything seem so final.

Tricia swallowed, trying to work her failing voice. "Why have you taped his eyes close?" she asked of the doctor, not taking her eyes from her son.   
  
"He's deeply unconscious so we taped them shut mainly to protect them. If they should open spontaneously even though he hasn't really regained consciousness and can't blink then he could damage his eyes."

She felt an arm come around her and she turned to see Mac muster up a weak smile. "I'm sure he's going to be okay, he didn't survive that hell in the building to leave us now."

************************************************************   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**1648 EST, July 4th**   
He was going to leave them, Harm was going to die. Mac could almost feel her curse about to take hold- the curse that meant death any male who expressed some romantic interest in her. First there had been Billy who was killed at the tender age of seventeen in a car crash she was involved in, then there was Dalton who was followed by Chris- her own husband. No man was safe from her...and now Harm was next.   
  
It was late afternoon and she had persuaded the Burnetts' to go for something to eat. Bud and Harriet had gone to relieve their babysitter and spend some time with their son although they had said they would be back later in the evening. The Admiral had been called to answer some questions from the NCIS as a formality to the lengthy investigations that were sure to follow.

That left Mac alone with Harm. Just as she had wanted.

She had been aching to spend some time with him- just the two of them together. She needed time to contemplate what he had said to her before he...died. He loved her; he actually loved her and had admitted to her aloud. And now she could lose him.

Mac gazed down at Harm's still form. He looked so fragile, so delicate. She wasn't used to seeing him like this, even in Russia when he was at his most emotionally weakest he had the will to go on. But Mac didn't know if that was true anymore. He had lost so much blood and the pain must have been excruciating. How was he supposed to survive this?

She took his right hand, careful of the IV and the pulse ox monitor attached to his index finger. "You better hold on, Harm," she whispered harshly. "Give up and I'll kill you myself."

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**2156 EST, July 4th**   
The commotion had finally eased and the various FBI and NCIS agents swarming the building had retired for the night. Now only Admiral Chedwiggen was left in what was once a normal, safe office building but had been turned into a torture pit not twenty-four hours ago.   
  
He gazed around his office wondering if he could ever feel safe here again. Rabb's blood still stain the wall and carpet, a towel used to stench the bleeding lay strewn on the floor nearby. Another now dry pool of blood signified the spot where young Peter died at just sixteen years of age in an attempt to do what he thought was best.

Chedwiggen struggled against the nausea that turn his stomach. It wasn't that he hadn't seen dead bodies before or had lost friends to violence; he was a former SEAL who had served in Vietnam, death was a close companion to him. But this was different, he was a lawyer now- he wasn't meant to be burying officers young enough to be his son or watching children die, he had left that life behind him when he quit the SEALs.   
  
Guilt over his disdain over Rabb switching designation and his subsequent disgraceful behaviour towards the younger man weighed heavily in his mind. He had felt so betrayed when Rabb had gone to Pensacola but that no way excused his attitude. If he had caught a subordinate acting in such a way to a junior office there would have been serious repercussions.

Now Rabb lay in some hospital room, his prognosis uncertain. Dying because he had took a bullet meant for his superior officer. Chedwiggen had always known Harmon Rabb was honourable and courageous; he didn't need the proof of his inclinations.

There was nothing he could not about young Rabb except pray for his recovery...but there was something he could do about Peter. He could keep his promise he had made to the boy, a promise that played a part in costing the youngster his life.

************************************************************   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**1715 EST, July 5th**   
"He's following in the family tradition," whispered Tricia Rabb, over her ninth cup of coffee.

The nurses had finally shooed the faithful trio consisting of Mac, Tricia and Frank, down to the cafeteria after their determined all-night vigil at Harm's bedside. None of them were very hungry but they grudgingly went to eat for fear their visitations would be cut down by the courteous, but stern nursing staff of the ICU.

"What's the family tradition?" Mac asked, unsure if she really wanted to know. Frank looked on in similar apprehension, aware his wife was on the verge of breaking down.

"Dying young," stated Tricia simply. "All the men in the family die young. His father, his grandfather, my father...they all died so young and now I'm going to lose my son to that very same curse."

"Trish, Harm's not dead," Frank said. "He's very sick right now but he'll get better."

"No, this time is different, I can feel it."

Mac didn't want to hear this. The previous day Tricia had been so full of optimism but since then her mood had deteriorated as Harm's condition had taken a turn for the worse.

Frank exchanged a glance with Mac then turned his attention to his distraught wife. "You don't feel anything more than worry for your son. He'll be fine, you have to believe in that."

Tricia remained oblivious, instead talking dreamily as if in her own world. "I never wanted him to join the Navy, you know. Even before Harmon...went away I just wanted for Harm to do something different. The Navy is such a risky life. When he was a little boy, he adored my brother Simon who is a doctor. I was happy, hoping Harm would choose to do the same one day. It looked like he would, he was just five years old but I had a feeling that was what he would do. My son was so good at caring for others, he helped his kindergarten teacher when she had a bad fall in the classroom. All the other kids were panicked but Harm stayed calm. He never lost his nerves."

That was not surprising. Harm had always had a flare for keeping cool and calm in a crisis not to mention he genuinely cared for the people around him, both his friends and strangers. Mac could actually visualize him fitting into the ranks of the medical community with little effort, helping the sick and injured when few could.   
  
"Then Harmon disappeared. In that moment, Harm changed forever. He gave up his dreams of becoming a doctor and all he wanted to do was fly like his daddy. That was his focus- to be like Daddy."

"That type of image can have a huge effect on a child so young," commented Mac. Not to mention Harm was so damned stubborn he couldn't care less if the planet was about to be blown up, when he wanted to do something then he would no matter what was in his way.

"Well, now he's going to be like his daddy," Tricia muttered. "Dead just like Harmon." Despite her harsh words, a tear rolled down her cheek.

Frank took her hands and held them tightly. In a stern tone, he said, "That boy is going to survive this, he will. But how can he gather the strength if his own mother is giving up on him? You can't give up hope, Trish, you have to keep your confidence in Harm firm. He isn't going to die, I promise you that."   
  
As soon as those words exited his mouth, the tannoy connected throughout the hospital sprang to life.

"Doctor Croft to Room 330! Code blue! Code blue in Room 330!"

Room 330 was Harm's room.

************************************************************   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**1810 EST, July 5th**   
"I'm sorry," sighed Doctor Croft to the petrified parents and partner of Harm. "As you know, your son arrested an hour ago." At their stricken looks, he quickly continued, "But we were about to re-start his heart."

There was something in the man's tone Mac did not like.

"Why do I get the feeling there's more?" she said suspiciously.

Croft smiled grimly. "Because, Colonel, you would be correct...This is the fourth time he has crashed in twenty-four hours and it displays the poor condition he is in. The Commander has now slipped into a deep coma and the congestion in his lungs have put undue stress on his heart. He's on hefty antibiotics in the hopes to alleviate any more developing problems but this has the effect of putting further stress on his system."

"What does that mean?" Frank asked.

"It means Commander Rabb is now on complete life support. Before he was breathing on his own but the machine just helped him, now it is only those machines that is keeping him alive

"But he'll be okay, won't he, Doctor?" quizzed Tricia. "My son will get better."

"It's not that simple. The fluid in the Commander's lungs are stopping the oxygen from reaching his body and it's getting worse. We could be looking at neurological damage...As in the case of military personnel, he has a living will kept on file in his medical record. Both myself and two other doctors have evaluated him before consulting his files." Croft's voice softened. "According to your son's living will, it would seem he has fallen below the criteria stated as his wishes wherein if he arrests again he does not want any heroic measures taken to revive him nor does he want to be kept lingering on life support. Colonel- as you are his next of kin- and you, Mr and Mrs Burnett, as the parents, have to consider the option of turning off the machines."

"You want me to kill my child?!" Tricia shouted in disgust. "I'm his mother, I will not play party to killing my own son. It's only been a day." She scowled at the doctor. "And if you dare touch those machines, I'll sue fast you won't even have time to call your lawyer."

"I'm not asking you to kill him, I'm asking you to let him go- to let him rest. He's in pain and he has little hope of recovering. Of course, we wouldn't turn off the machines without your consent and you can ask for a second opinion from outside this hospital. Please talk this through thoroughly, you have to ask yourselves what he would want." Croft patted Tricia's arm leaving the stunned group with a horrifying decision to make.

************************************************************   
**Federal Penitentiary**   
**Washington DC**   
**1334 EST, July 6th**   
When he was informed by the governor that he had a visitor, the last person in the Universe Jon expected to see was Admiral AJ Chedwiggen- the man he had held hostage and threatened to kill on more than one occasion. But then Jon did not really give a damn if Santa Claus appeared, nothing mattered anymore. His baby brother was dead and he was alone in the world.

Their mother had phoned from Alabama the previous day, grief-stricken at the loss of Peter and even more so at the circumstances of his death. She had blamed Jon for the death of her youngest son- quite rightly- then proclaimed she no longer had any sons left. His mother was ashamed of him and of what he had done. She could not see why he had done and now, looking back on those events, neither could Jon. All that mattered was that in his mother's mind, Jon had murdered Peter and he was no longer her son.   
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked sullenly.

Chedwiggen studied him for a moment then said, "How are things going in here? Are they treating you alright?"

"Yeah," sneered Jon, "real five star treatment...What do you want?"

The Admiral sighed. "Your brother...Peter, he asked me to make sure you would be okay. Peter didn't want for you to be hurt, he was worried. That was why he did what he did. He was a brave boy, you should be proud of him."

Jon choked on the mention of his brother. Petey was the baby of the family, ten years separated the brothers emphasizing the huge age gap. Despite that, Peter had always put Jon above all else. Jon should have known the kid would not have willingly gone with the whole situation, if only for his sake.

He blinked back his tears and gazed up. "I...I am proud of him," Jon whispered.

"I know you are."

Chedwiggen watched the young man intently. For all his arrogance and street sense, he was still little more than a boy himself. It saddened the elder man to know his life was all but wrecked now. He had lost his brother and faced a hefty sentence in one of the toughest jails in the country.

"I'm here to fulfill my promise to Peter, Jon. I'm here to make sure you get through this on the easiest path possible." When he remembered what these thugs had done to Commander Rabb, he couldn't help but add, "But don't think you're going to get off with a slap on the wrist. You'll have to pay just like anyone else in your position."   
  
"W-what happens now?"   
  
"You'll go to trial, no doubt you'll get between fifteen and twenty years. Your accomplice, Daniel Ross, is looking at around ten years since he was not the main instigator and he was only look-out duty. The fact that you sat and planned it all out, not to mention you abandoned your responsibilities in the Navy Reserves doesn't not help your case. But I'm going to ensure you get the best legal representative possible. Hopefully, we'll get fifteen years with the possibility of parole in ten. I can't promise you anything. Your stupidity may cost a good man his life."   
  
"How is he?"

Chedwiggen could see tentative fear and concern in the young man's eyes. He wondered if it was fear for Rabb's precarious condition or for his own life- any judge would be a great deal harsher if Rabb died, especially a military judge. He decided to give Jon the benefit of the doubt.

"It's bad, he went a long time with medical attention. We're not sure if he's going to make it."

That was the sanitized version. In actuality, Chedwiggen had been stunned to discover Rabb's doctor was now talking about switching off the life support machine. He hadn't expected for this to be so sudden, he hadn't expected for Rabb to die. He had just assumed a few weeks in the hospital and everything would be fine. He had told Rabb he would be okay and that he would get him to safety. Chedwiggen was not officially the younger man's CO but he still felt some responsibility to him, he probably always would. Recent events had only served to reinforce that duty. And now to hear Rabb may die for taking a bullet that was meant for him...what was he meant to feel?   
  
The Admiral stood to leave. He wanted to back to the hospital. As he turned, Jon called him back. The young man sighed and gathered his courage. "I...I really hopes he gets better. I didn't mean for anybody to get hurt. It wasn't meant to be like this, for Peter and for you lot. I...I'm so sorry." He swiped tears from his eyes then hardened back into the role of felon.

"Why did you do it, son? What the hell possessed you to do such a thing?" He had to know what were the reasons, what could make someone act in such a manner. In that Sean Baxter's case, the motive was pure and utter greed yet somehow Jon did not appear the type to endanger his brother's life needlessly.

"I needed the weapons."

"Weapons?! Why did you not just buy them like every other potential terrorist?"

"I needed hardcore stuff, something so that people would take me seriously. We grew up with nothing, I had to watch my mother work herself practically to death to feed us. I wanted to show all those rich schmucks that their perfect lives could be wreaked by one guy and a bunch of guns...I did it to give Petey the things he missed out on, the things he deserved."

"Was it worth it?" The Admiral gazed at him sadly and the young man cast an equally dejected stare back.

"No...no..."

Life could be so ironic at times.

************************************************************   
**Harm's Residence**   
**Washington DC**   
**2125 EST, July 7th**   
Tricia wandered around her son's desolate apartment, taking in everything. It was odd but she had never visited Harm at his home before. She liked to believe she had a close relationship with him, much like any mother with a grown-up son who had his own life, perhaps closer since they were all each other had of Harmon. Still, they had never had the time for her to come up and spend time with him in Washington. Either she was busy at the gallery or he was off on a case. It saddened her to think it took something like this to bring her to her son's home.

It was a tidy apartment but Harm had always liked his belongings to be neat since childhood. He was such a perfectionist. Trish smiled when she saw the framed photographs on his desk. One was of a five-year-old Harm sitting in the seat of Harmon's cockpit. The picture of father and son was so poignant; it was the last they ever took together. Surprisingly, there was one of her wedding to Frank. Harm was eighteen years old at the time and was furious at what he saw as abandonment of his father. Tricia was proud he could consider Frank enough to have a photo of him. The photograph of her handsome son in his dress uniform standing rather close to Mac did not surprise her though.   
  
She moved further into the apartment, trying to forget her son was dying in hospital. She reached to pick up one of his jackets that lay on the sofa. Bringing it up to her face, she held it tightly.

"Trish..." called Frank, startling her.

"We should probably take some of his things to the hospital. He'll need them later."

"Tricia?"

"Harm likes everything tidy so I should probably come and give this place a hover sometime during the week so it will be ready for him when he comes home."

"Tricia," Frank said, more forcefully. He took her by the shoulders making her meet his gaze. "We need to talk about what the doctors said."

"I don't want to," she replied, sounding like a petulant child. "I won't let anyone touch him. They'll have to get through me if they want to hurt him."

"They don't want to hurt him...Maybe the doctors are right, Harm isn't getting better. He might not get better. Is it not better for him to let go than suffer unnecessarily?"

"How do we know he's dying? We haven't given him a chance. It's only been three days."

"Three days of pain, not being able to breathe for himself. The fact that his heart given up four times shows us what he wants." He held her closer to him. "If you want, we'll move him to another facility in California where the status of his living will won't be brought up. I'll pay for a room in the house to be made into a miniature hospital and have a full complement of nurses and doctors to nurse him...but you have to consider if Harm would want that. You know him, he's your son. Would he want to in that state indefinitely. He's always been so independent..."

Tricia sighed. "I know, he's been so independent since he was toddler. But I don't if I have the strength to let him die."

"We'll bring in one of our doctors, for another opinion. We won't let him go without a fight."

************************************************************   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**1748 EST, July 9th**   
This wasn't the way things were meant to be, it wasn't supposed to end like this. A top neurologist, a Doctor Ian Hays, had traveled from Florida to examine Harm on request from Tricia Burnett. As Harm's next of kin, Mac had been present when Hays broke the news that Harm was no longer responding to stimuli and the chances of him regaining consciousness was very low. At that, Tricia had dashed off unable to accept her son's death sentence leaving Mac to return to her partner's side.

But Mac couldn't believe it, she couldn't accept Harm was going to die. It wasn't fair, he was only trying to help his superior officer and now he was going to die.

She took in limp hand in her. "I...I thought we talked about this, flyboy," she said tearfully. "You weren't meant to give up on us."

There was no reply, just the beeping of the machines and the hissing of the ventilator broke the silence in the ICU room. Mac gazed at the pale, barely recognizable form that was her partner. Was Harm even here anymore? Was he aware of the people around him or had he left them ages ago with the shell of his body? This couldn't be Harm. He was too active, to independent to let himself just lie here with machines breathing for him.

That left Mac with the question, was it selfish of her not to let him go? She didn't know if she could work up the courage to say goodbye. He was her best friend and the last thing he had said allowed the possibility for that friendship to grow into more. She wanted that chance to be realized so badly, but at what expense? No, she couldn't let Harm suffer. He didn't deserve that and she knew if she really did care for him then she would realize that.

"I'm so sorry, Harm," she whispered. She leant over the bed rail and kissed his cheek.   
  
"You don't expect your child to die before you, anymore than you expect your friend to die so young."   
  
Mac turned to see Tricia Burnett moving into the room, her blue eyes fixed on her son. It was then both women knew what was going to happen. They were going to lose Harm. They both loved him and it was that love that forced them to see they had to give in to the inevitable.

"I lost Harmon and now I'm losing Harm." Tricia stroked Harm's hair back. "I would do anything to keep him here with us."

"I...I should have done more..."

Tricia looked up and smiled sadly. "This was not your fault, honey. We all make our choices, Harm chose to take that shot. He wouldn't have had it any other way."

"When are they...?" Mac couldn't finish the sentence.

"Tomorrow, I wanted some time with him. For us to say goodbye."   
  
As the two women prepared themselves for spending one last night with Harm, coming to terms with their conflicting emotions, Mac just found her mind repeating the same mantra.

_*It can't happen like this...It can't happen like this...It can't happen like this...*_

***********************************************************   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**1011 EST, July 9th**   
A somber night had turned to a depressing morning. The visitor restriction on Harm had been lifted emphasizing his condition. Bud, Harriet and the Admiral had come the night before. Harriet couldn't stop crying and Bud was numbed with shock, barely able to stand straight from grief. Harm had been their mentor, a friend who they had grown close to. It was the Admiral that appeared the more affected. Guilt-stricken, he had repeatedly apologized to Tricia, so unlike the strong man Mac had come to know.

Now just Mac, Frank and Tricia stood in the room. First, Frank came forward and touched the cheek of his step-son paternally.

"We may not have always got on, Harm, and we may have had our many differences but I am proud to have you as my chosen son," he said.

Tricia came to his side. She kissed Harm's cheek, taking his hand. "Oh, Harm, you weren't meant to leave me so soon. You didn't even have the chance to have your own family, to grow old with your wife and watch your children grow up." Echoing Mac's thoughts, she sighed, "It can't happen like this...I'll miss you so much."

This was the hardest thing Tricia had ever had to do. She had given life to her son; she had helped Harm to walk, to talk, to read, to write...and now she was helping him to die. She had been there with him every major milestone of his life- his first day of school, his birthdays, his graduations and it tore her apart to know he was going to a place where she could not follow. He was going alone.

In a whisper, the mother added to her son, "Say hello to your father. He'll keep you safe for me."

Mac swallowed a lump. She hated this, it was so excruciating. At least with Dalton and Chris, death had been quick and swift. She wasn't used to this but then, was anyone? There was so much Mac had to say to Harm, so much she planned to eventually tell him. She hadn't counted on death to separate them.

She was mildly aware of Tricia and Frank stepping back to allow her some privacy. Mac took Harm's hand, which was once to active and vital but now lay limp in hers. "Oh, Harm...We had so many chances, so many opportunities to tell each other our feelings. Why did we leave it so late?...You said you wouldn't go like this." She caught her breath, choking back her tears. She felt so angry at everyone. The doctors for not being able to do anything, the powers-that-be for allowing this to happen...and to Harm for giving up. "You gave me unconditional friendship and you stuck up for me when I thought no-one else would." Her voice dropped to whisper. "I won't ever forget you, Harm. I'll love you always. But you can let go, rest..."

Croft entered hesitantly, taking in the solemn scene. At Tricia's reluctant nod, he began to disconnect Harm from the machines until only the ventilator, EEG and heart monitor remained.   
  
"Your son is a hero," the doctor said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, I know," Tricia replied, not taking her eyes from Harm. "But I would have preferred him to be a coward and to be healthy and whole."   
  
What could he say to that? Croft was a father himself, he had to agree with this woman. Afterall, he was a parent before he was a Navy officer and a doctor.   
  
"Uh...okay, I'm going to start switching the ventilator off." Croft began to turn the dial on the life support machine and gradually the puffing of the vent decreased to a stop. Harm was no longer receiving oxygen. Croft then sighed before easing the trach tube from Harm's mouth.

Mac gazed at him. He looked as if he were just sleeping. The heart monitor beeped wildly for a second before dropping into a faster-than-normal rhythm.

"It may take some time," said Croft gently. "Sometimes about an hour. It just depends."

Six hours later, with Frank, Tricia and Mac still hovering at Harm's side, Croft returned to find his patient still hanging on. Harm's breathing was shallow but constant, which was certainly more than could be expected. To say Croft was amazed was an understatement. He had expected Harm's vital signs to have crashed some hours ago yet there was no hint of that happening.

"Well, Doctor," Tricia began, "what happens now? I'm not standing around waiting for my son to die. This is hard enough without that."

"I know," conceded Croft. He sighed. "It's up to you, we can put him back on the vent or we can wait..."

Mac and Trish exchanged a glance and they both knew immediately the answer. "Put him back on the ventilator," Mac said. "Let's give him a chance."

It did not take more than a minute for Croft to reinsert the tube, this time setting the machine on a lower setting. He could see Harm did not required full ventilation. For all intents and purposes, it appeared 'Lazarus' might live to see another day and if tenacity fuelled one's life-force, he wouldn't put it past Harm to be up-and-around in no time.   
  
************************************************************   
**Bethesda Naval Hospital**   
**Bethesda, Maryland**   
**1701 EST, August 8th**   
Although it appeared Harm would indeed survive the horror of the siege, recovery was by no means a quick and easy process. He was still so far away from then, deep in the depths of his comatose mind, and he remained that way for some time. As the day turned to weeks, he did show improvement much to the delight of his friends and family. He progressed from the ventilator to a simple oxygen mask, and soon tubes and machines were removed as Harm started to regain control over his body.   
  
Coma was not a science and the doctors has no way of predicting when Harm would come back to them. It could have been day, weeks, months...years. But Mac remained loyally by his side, determined to see him through the whole ordeal. And finally her devotion was rewarded...   
  
When Harm's eyes fluttered open, it was just Mac and him in the room and the first thing he set eyes upon was his partner. At Harm's slight movements- the first independent movement in more than a month- Mac looked up to meet his blue eyes, gracing him with a wide smile.

After the stress of the month, it was all she could do not to burst into tears. She had honestly thought she had lost Harm and to see him awake now, it was the proof she needed to understand he was going to pull through. But Harm didn't need tears at the moment, he needed reassurance.

Licking his dry lips, Harm frowned at her. "M-Mac...w-where are we?" His voice was muffled by the oxygen mask.   
  
"You're in the hospital," Mac answered, buzzing for the nurse. She pulled the mask down to feed him some ice chips. "How are you feeling, partner?"

When she tried to replace the mask, Harm moved away. He was now assessing his surroundings in total confusion. "My head's killing me but that's probably what I get for hitting it, huh?"

Mac found it odd that he mention just his head. The man was shot in the chest and leg, surely those wounds more than over-looked his head injury. But she did not question him on it, Harm did get strange ideas sometimes.   
  
Harm's eyes was now darting around the hospital room. "Why aren't we on the ship? I told you not to call an ambulance, I just had a concussion. I was fine until you shone that torch into my eyes- that was the only reason they were dilated, you know."

What ship? They hadn't been on a ship together for ages. Perhaps he was taking about the submarine but he was adamant he hurt his head yet on the sub it was his throat that was injured...not unless he meant the USS Hornet...It was the Hornet where he had fallen through the rusty decks and received a concussion for his efforts. Mac remembered that clearly, finding her partner sprawled on the floor barely conscious. Nevertheless that was two years ago. This couldn't be happening. Two years?!   
  
Suddenly nervous, Mac said in a watery voice, "What ship, Harm?"

He stared at her as if she had grown horns. "The Hornet, of course. How could you forget? But why the hell does my chest and leg hurt when it was my head got bashed."   
  
"Mac? Mac, what's wrong? What did I say?" Harm stared at her, his blue eyes imploring.

He was looking to her for answers. Answers she didn't have. Before either of them could speak, Croft entered the room pleased to see his miracle patient awake.

"It's good to see you, Commander," he greeted. "My name is Doctor Croft. I'm just going to examine you and order some tests to ensure you haven't suffered any effects of the coma. You're a very lucky man."

Mac just sighed inwardly. Lucky was not the word she would use if her hypothesis was correct and judging from Harm's confusion of the whole situation, she knew she _*was*_ correct.

************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**0930 EST, November 21st**   
Harm stood in his office, taking in the bare walls and empty desk. It was great being back to work after spending more than a month in hospital recovering from wounds he did not even recall receiving, and a further two months convalescing in the sanctuary of his apartment coming to the grips with the many changes around him.

Two years. It seemed so insignificant, just twenty-four mere months...and yet it could have been a decade.

In those two years, some guy called Mic Brumby was about to temporarily commandeer his office, Bud and Harriet were married with a child he was godfather to, Mac had risen in rank, his father was confirmed dead and apparently he had left JAG to return to flying. Not bad for twenty-four months. And despite both Admiral Chedwiggen and Mac telling him the story his so-called life, all these events felt like it had not happened to him but to some other Harm. It was like entering a dream land.

The psychologist the Navy was forcing him to see had explained that it was very unlikely his missing memories would return but with time he would adjust to the changes. Adjust?! God, it was like he had been out in space for the last two years and now that he was back, everyone had changed apart from him. He felt like a little kid finding himself in a world where all his friends had grown up leaving him behind. The only bonus was the two seasons of 'The X-Files' he could catch up on.   
  
"How are things going, Commander?"

Harm whirled around to find the Admiral standing there watching him. That was another thing he had to get used to; the Admiral treated him almost like a favourite nephew or surrogate son. He had the distinct feeling guilt had a part to play in Chedwiggen's mood; Mac had said he had taken a bullet to save his superior. That would made sense if the Admiral felt he owed Harm something but it was strange coming from a man who was usually so strict to his junior officers. Harm wasn't ungrateful for all the help but he just wished for things to go back to normal, for Chedwiggen to bawl him out or behave sarcastic towards him. This was too freaky.

"Uh...yes, sir," Harm replied, recollecting his bearings. "Everything is fine."   
  
"Good, good. Do you need anything, Commander?"

"No, sir, I'm okay."

Chedwiggen gazed around the office, frowning slightly. "Commander, I know this must all be...strange for you. I just need to be sure, you *_are_* happy at JAG, aren't you?"

It was now Harm's turn to frown. "Yes, why wouldn't I be, sir?"

"You _*did*_ leave JAG to return to an active flight status."

"That's true, sir, but I also went to Russia to find my father, survived an armed siege and do a whole lot of things I don't remember."   
  
Chedwiggen smiled at him. "Touché, Commander. All I'm saying is that you can go back to Pensacola if you want, I won't stop you."   
  
Harm went to the window and gazed onto the courtyard below. The offer was tempting, a chance to escape all the turmoil and memories- or lack of memories- here at JAG. But how could he go back to Pensacola when there was still so much to remember here?

"I belong here."

The Admiral softly replied, "Yes, you do." He coughed, composing himself. "Well, I'll leave you to it, Commander. And if you need anything, you do know we're all willing to help."

With that, he left leaving Harm to his turbulent thoughts.

The whole of JAG were so solicitous to him. Everyone was willing to give him a hand, from Bud going over the past two years of cases to that Brumby guy helping him bring his things back into his office. But out of all of them, it was Mac who was the most supportive.

Mac was being so patient with him, especially since she was used to a closer partnership when all he could give was uncertainty and confusion. She had gently explained how things were now and what had occurred in the time he had forgotten. She had come with him to Pensacola to pick up his belongings and meet with the commanding officers he had no memory of serving under. He knew there was something up with her, something that was bothering her deeply. Two years or not, he figured himself to be a fairly good judge of his partner's character.   
  
But until she told him what was wrong, all he could do was get on with his own life.   
  
************************************************************   
**JAG Headquarters**   
**Falls Church, Washington, DC**   
**1023 EST, November 21st**   
Amnesia. The psychologists thought the concussion Harm received had been more severe than previously estimated and the head trauma as well as psychological distress had caused memories to be blocked out. Who could blame Harm for wanting to forget the past two years? They hadn't exactly been a picnic for him- the shooting, his father being dead after years of searching for him, being accused of murder, the Annie Lewis case, Palmer...all that was just for starters. And one could not forget Brumby and Jordan. It was all enough to make anyone go mad.

Harm was finally off medical leave and allowed to come back to work on the condition he took it easy for the next few weeks. The psychologist had explained to the Admiral and the rest of the JAG staff that they would have to accommodate for Harm's memory loss and try to just let him find his own way. His memory could not be forced into a sudden recollection, Harm had to move at his own pace and if something came then so be it. But from the psychologist's report, it was doubtful he would ever remember those two years completely.

She wondered if he would return to Pensacola if his missing memories returned. That was where he had wanted to be before. Though his still-healing injuries would not allow him to just jump into a jet and fly off, Harm was nothing if not determined and no-one could hold him back from flying if that was his choice. Still, if he remembered Pensacola then he would also remember what he had said to her, how he had always loved her. The saying, 'you can't have things both ways', flicked into Mac's mind.

Mac watched Harm sitting in his office, tinkering about trying to get things back to the way he remembered two years ago. So much had happened since then, so much had been said, and he remained innocent to it all. In some ways, it was better he did not recall the hours they were trapped in the office, Harm in intense pain as he bled to death in from of their eyes. Was it not more psychologically sound he was free of memories of his own torture? Still, she could not forget what he said to her at the moment he 'died' in her arms. That he loved her. She had been waiting for him to say that for a long time.

Sighing, she retreated back into her own office. "Don't worry, Harm. I'll remember for *_both*_ of us until you're ready..."   


THE END!!!   
***********************************************************************************************   
Shock! Horror! I was actually nice to Bud and Harriet in this. I know this was late out- JAG has restarted in the States though by the time it is shown in Britain little AJ will have graduated from the Academy. I really considered the possibility of making this a character death story, but I decided to be nice. Still, a character death is in the cards.

   [1]: file:///C|/WINDOWS/DESKTOP/Fan Fiction/JAG/Completed/m.a.jooty@dundee.ac.uk
   [2]: http://www.crosswinds.net/~jagweb/index.htm



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